For Keeps
by tydemans
Summary: Ollivander always said the wand chooses the wizard, but Merlin help the witch whose wand has its own agenda. And Victoire thought Teddy was her biggest problem.
1. No Good Ever Came From a Long Eared Owl

**Chapter 1: Nothing Good Ever Came From a Long Eared Owl**

Nothing good would ever come from a long eared owl. Victoire was utterly convinced of that fact. Anytime she saw those prominent ear tufts sitting erect on the top of a bird's head she just knew whatever he offered was not going to be good.

Long eared owls brought you letters like-_ V, Six months gone and I haven't gotten nearly as far as I intended...thinking about us a lot lately and agonizing about taking the time to finish what I started or running back home to you... more than a year is too much to ask for you to wait...shouldn't feel tied down in your final year at Hogwarts...I'll be back before your graduation like I promised...we can see where we are then..._

Bollocks!

The Daily Prophet exclusively used long eared owls for their correspondence. They were likely the only owls that would lower themselves to deliver such rubbish as- _Miss Weasley, we here at the Daily Prophet wish to offer an opportunity for you to comment on your recent three day disappearance and subsequent illness. We are sure you are pleased to hear that the expose on the events of said disappearance will be a prominent feature of the first page of our latest printing! Please respond promptly. If we have not received word from you by three this afternoon we shall proceed with printing Miss Skeeter's article and cite you with 'no comment'._

Holy sensationalized load of double bollocks!

Her friend Sara insisted that there was an inordinate amount of long eared owls in Brazil. Victoire found herself questioning the source of that particular tidbit upon considering that, at the time, Sara was defending her own choice of carrier for her news- _Victoire, holidays at my cousin's house have been way better than expected. Couldn't wait until we are back at school to tell you! A job offer after graduation...moving here permanently...Me, halfway around the world. Can you believe it!?!_

Yes, she could believe it, because it was sent via bloody long eared owl.

"He's not going away until you take it."

_Hush up_, Victoire thought. _You're moving to Brazil in a week. Some friend you are!_ She continued her stare down with the freakishly long eared owl.

"It has the Bimas school crest on the seal. It's your acceptance letter. It has to be. This is what you killed yourself for on NEWTS."

"Why do I even want it?" Victoire whined.

"Because Bimas is the premier institute of higher learning in the wizarding world," Sara smiled, "and because you still have no idea what you want to be when you grow up so you are putting off any kind of real decision with more school."

Sara had been Victoire's friend since they started Hogwarts. Victoire was closer to Sara in some ways than her own sister. She supposed that was because there was no sibling rivalry between them.

"Just because you have always known exactly what you want and have landed the job that will get you there doesn't mean that you are still not a traitor for leaving me all alone," Victoire snipped. The absence of sibling rivalry apparently did not preclude occasional other forms of contention.

"I'm not leaving you alone. You can't walk down Diagon Alley without tripping over relatives and your popularity is downright annoying," Sara shot back easily. She generally refused to rise to Victoire's bait. "You have all kinds of other friends."

"No, I have acquaintances. I have frenemies. I have dates, shameless flirts, and the occasional would-be stalker. You and Teddy have been my only real friends." If Victoire had known she was going to lose everybody at graduation, she would have paid a little more attention. She should have been befriending first years all along. They were not going anywhere for a while.

"But you're so close -" Sara started when Victoire cut her off. She knew where Sara was going with her argument.

"Family is different; they have to like me," she finally gave in to the owl. He was never going to blink. Victoire was left wondering if they even had eyelids and whether that fact was even worth looking up. "You can't choose your family but you choose your friends. And real friends understand you and choose you anyway."

"I have to go," Sara said quietly. "You can't expect me to stay."

"No, that's not what I meant. I am happy for you and I want what's best for you. I am just a little bitter that what's best is so far away." Victoire was also a little less naive than when she encouraged Teddy to go on his grand tour. He needed some time to find himself and explore his father's mysterious past. She needed to finish school. It all seemed so easy; so perfect.

Victoire shook herself out of her thoughts and looked over at her friend. Sara didn't deserve to pay for regrets in Victoire's past. She was unbelievably supportive back then, and she had stoically endured all Victoire's drama since. That was it; Victoire knew she needed to happy up before she couldn't stand herself. "Whose bright idea was it to put Brazil in South America anyway?"

Sara brightened up immediately well used to the caprices of mood where Victoire was concerned. "I think it was the Wizengamot. Rumor has it the Chief Warlock at the time was allergic to Brazil nuts and sent it straight to the ends of the earth."

Victoire took a deep breath and reached for the letter.

* * *

Dear Perspective Applicant,

_We appreciate your interest the __**B**__ritish __**I**__nstitute of __**M**__agical __**A**__rts and __**S**__tudies. As you must know, for every single position in our freshman class we receive thousands of applications from witches, wizards, and all manner of magical beings from all over the globe. We simply cannot accommodate every candidate, and therefore, we find it necessary to hold your application pending responses to offers already issued... _

**

* * *

**

**HOOT! **

Mr. Big Ears apparently wanted his tip.

Bugger!

* * *

"Victoire, being waitlisted doesn't mean that you won't get in," Sara's voice held a peculiar mixture of sternness and encouragement that few people under the age of fifty would even attempt to pull off. "People have up to two years to start Bimas if they are accepted, and you know there are people who defer their acceptance to travel or take time off just like Teddy did."

_Yes, Teddy had no problem getting in,_ Victoire thought enviously, and he had taken not only the year he originally planned but also another for good measure. _Teddy could be casual about it - they wanted him right off._

They were currently sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor girl's dorm throwing all their worldly possessions out of drawers and trunks. It was amazing what could be accumulated in seven years. Seven years of shared wardrobe purchases and items whose original ownership had long since been forgotten.

"Other people only apply as a backup if they don't get into the occupational program they want. Surely some of those people will get their first choice," Sara continued not really getting that she was rubbing in the fact that her friend was not good enough to have a choice.

Yes, Victoire could practically hear the witch at the admission office in her polished and more than slightly condescending voice -_ If everyone we would rather have decides not to attend our institution this fall we will certainly accept your tuition money and put up with you for it_. She had no idea what she was going to tell her parents. She imagined they were so happy to think that she wouldn't be living in their basement when she turned 30 and, now, that dream was gone.

Sighing, Victoire gathered a pile of four or five dozen t-shirts she and Sara had accumulated over the years they had been at school. The shirts were mostly muggle slogans and graphics. They were always picking them up on vacations and holidays sending them to each other for giggles. Some people collected frog cards. Sara and Victoire collected t-shirts.

"You need to take the tees," Victoire moved the pile over to Sara's trunk with the hope that they could move along to another topic.

"How did you work that out?" Sara looked across the pile at her.

"You're the one going to the warmer climate. Besides," Victoire added in her most proper voice, "I would never even wear them. You have no problem with people staring at your breasts, while I don't like to encourage that sort of behavior." Sara threw a pillow at her.

The attempt at distraction was unsuccessful, however. Sara was nothing if not focused. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she retrieved a pile of shoes from under the bed and continued her previous thought where she left off. "It's just so surprising," she commented while sifting through several pairs for matches, "I mean, everybody applying probably had the same Outstanding NEWTS, but you're Head Girl at Hogwarts. That should have counted for something."

_Not when so many people believed I got that placement solely because of my name_, Victoire couldn't help but think.

"Here's what you are going to do," Sara held up a particularly complex pair of strappy sandals at which Victoire shook her head and motioned to Sara's pile. Victoire hated those sandals. Her mother bought them because they were _just divine _and matched the gown Victoire wore to last year's spring ball. She didn't last an hour before kicking them off. "You are going to have someone in your family or one of their well placed friends in the ministry write you a recommendation letter. Your father is tight with the Minister, right? You were stubborn not to do that in the first place."

_She may have been right there,_ Victoire thought. _Who was I to think I didn't need the help. I needed all the help I could get._

"And," Sara looked at Victoire where she sat against the opposite bed, "you are going to tell them about your condition. That will set you apart from the rest of the application pool when a place does open up so you will be the one to get it."

Sara was the planner. Victoire, not so much. She could implement a plan if someone handed it to her. She could draw people's attention to it and rally them for support. In a pinch, she could even improvise on the fly when a plan went astray. She could not, however, create even the simplest plan on her very own. There were just too many possibilities. Victoire easily got lost in possibilities.

Right now, however, her possibilities seemed limited. Not to mention unattractive.

"A condition that is routinely referred to as 'hysterical' anything does not inspire confidence in ones abilities," Victoire countered, banking a pair of rolled up wool stockings off the wall and into the rubbish bin.

"That's just McGonagall talking. No one has used that term since the dark ages which, coincidently, is the last time anyone has exhibited your eccentricity." She got up from the floor, moved over to the bed against which Victoire was leaning, and began sorting the remaining clothing stacked on it. "Besides, that's not the term Healer Hayes uses."

Ah, Grant Hayes. No man would ever live up to Sara's image of Grant Hayes. Victoire felt sorry for those Brazilian blokes who would not stand a chance against the Healer Hayes standard. "Grant is a newly qualified healer. I hardly think he can change the terminology of the only text on record for my particular birth defect," Victoire said tossing the next pair of stockings at Sara. "Enough about me and my issues," Victoire laid her head back against the bed. "The year is coming to a close and I'm going to have to learn to deal without you soon enough." She turned her head toward Sara at that sobering thought, "I am going to miss the hell out of you. You know that, don't you?"

Sara looked at her and started to tear up a little, "Ditto, kiddo."

There was probably so much more that should be said, but Victoire would never know how to properly say it.

Sara glanced over to the birdcage by the window with its open door and fresh water. It had been vacant for a year and a half. "I know you will not forget me. Even when I'm gone," she replied.

* * *

A/N: Much thanks to CelticKisses from Aparecium Forums and Stefeny from LiveJournal for beta reading this chapter.


	2. No Plan B

Eve of Teddy's Last Birthday at Hogwarts ( 27 Months Prior )

"If you were taking me to the room of requirement, V, you could have classed the place up a bit," Teddy peered over Victoire's head into the dimness. "Who thinks up a dusty old storage warehouse that smells like charcoal?"

"Your birthday present is hidden here," Victoire pulled him inside and stretched up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the nose before she closed the door behind them. "If decorations are what you want, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Gryffindor is preparing as we speak and, for once, no one resents my kidnapping you on your birthday eve. They're going all out, and I'm supposed to keep them well shed of you all night."

"Maybe hiding isn't such a bad idea," he tugged the hand he had been holding, bringing her closer into his arms and wrapping them around her. His warm lips met hers in a slow kiss. His hands slid to the small of her back and gently massaged her there in a way that made her melt and almost caused her to forget what she had been anticipating for over a month.

After an extended break, Victoire led him further into the dark interior where she had stashed her find. "I discovered this particular room when I was avoiding Jenny Sutton; you know how she is. Once here, I had the idea to accio a book for something to do while I waited her out." She looked back over her shoulder at him and blushed as Teddy shook his head, obviously envisioning the flaw in her approach. "Yes, not the most well thought out of ideas. Suddenly things were flying all around me. I had to hit the floor, but when the dust cleared – literally - and I could breathe again, there was a stack of books at my feet; some textbooks, some trashy novels, but mostly diaries and journals."

She paused. Teddy put his arms around her from behind and leaned his head down until the side of his face caressed hers. She closed her eyes as he whispered, "You went right for the diaries."

She felt the words as much as heard them. His moist breath sent a shiver through her. "You know me so well," she purred as she turned in his arms. She was not the least bit surprised that he was not the least bit anxious to get to his present. She also knew him well.

Teddy had been in her life from the beginning. She had spent the previous year discovering him in a whole new way, and she thrilled at the challenge that new dimension opened to her. She was in tune with him like no one else could be. She had devoted hours to kissing every part of his face, neck and shoulders, noted every spot where he reacted even in the smallest of ways and mapped that spot in her mind. She knew him.

Victoire allowed herself another deep kiss before easing away. She smiled at his reluctance to let her go as she retrieved her treasure from its hiding place. "I stopped reading this one as soon as I realized who wrote it." She handed the battered leather bound book to Teddy. "Your father must have left it here when he was teaching at the school."

Teddy's attention finally shifted to the book and all playfulness left his features. He did not move, did not breath for a long time.

There were parts of Teddy he did not share. Victoire understood that. She had expected to leave Teddy to the journal and his privacy. He surprised her when he asked her to stay. They sat together through the night with the book open between them and read the words of a student called Moony.

They laughed as they skimmed the first half of the journal. "Too bad we didn't find this earlier. Think of all we could have done with this information," she teased, sitting with her back propped against his chest.

"We did plenty," he returned as he lifted a strand of hair off her shoulder and tugged it gently, "and you hardly need encouragement to get yourself into trouble."

She thought back to the five years she and Teddy had spent together at Hogwarts and felt her stomach clench. She wasn't going to think about the two she would have to spend without him. The uneasiness did not go away, however, and oddly it mirrored the later entries in the journal as Moony and his friends approached their own graduation. Elaborate plans for a 'Marauder Grand Tour' eroded into fervor for action and justice in the approaching war - dropped with a promise to go when it was over.

Entries became shorter and less frequent as the group committed themselves to the Order and to the fight. Victoire had nearly wrapped herself around Teddy as she recognized the time frame of events unfolding. Knowledge of the betrayal and loss inevitable in the story, made the trust inherent in the perspective they were reading all the more poignant. Teddy's hands were not completely steady as he turned the final pages, reluctant, but compelled to finish.

| "_All trust and faith are gone. Killed Halloween night and buried amid accusations and suspicion.  
| I stand alone. My contribution unwanted. I promised to protect them with all I had.  
| I tried.  
__| It's over. There is but one promise that remains.  
| I'm going.  
| There has to be a place in this world that makes sense. There has to be a place I fit_."

Not a word was spoken for a long time after that last entry. The two stayed wrapped in each others arms for an eternity. The air was charged. Victoire was not sure what she had expected, but she wasn't exactly prepared for the roller coaster of emotions they had just experienced.

"You should go," she whispered to Teddy when her tears dried, her voice still a bit choked. "Follow the path your father set out for himself."

* * *

Victoire's Graduation

Victoire looked down at the lawn stretching out to the lake. Hundreds of families were milling about waiting to see the newest batch of witches and wizards to emerge from the hallowed halls of the castle. The expected turnout was tremendous; so big, in fact, that the Graduation at Hogwarts warranted the removal of the apparition wards from most of the grounds to manage the arrival of students' family and friends. She tried to pick out her family, which should have been easy, her family not being able to blend into any crowd.

She couldn't believe this was her last day at Hogwarts. Couldn't believe how many people had already asked her what she was going to do next. And, she really couldn't believe that Hufflepuff thought he could get away with not wearing anything under his graduation robe at the ceremony.

As she waited for the Head Master to finish his spiel with the would-be-streaker, Victoire contined to scan the crowd below, looking for people she knew. One person she knew, for sure. Teddy would be at the graduation. That was their plan. They had not laid eyes on each other in almost two years; she had given him his space and he had given her _a break._

And they were going to see where they were.

"Nice turnout," the Head Boy commented from beside her. She nodded. The crowd had started to resemble the size of those that gathered there on her birthday. Not that they gathered for her birthday – she had the dubious honor of sharing that date with the biggest wizard holiday of modern time. The steady stream of people through the gates reminded Victoire why she always celebrated her birthday eve instead. Crowds were not her thing.

The Head of Hufflepuff House took charge of her pupil who was now sporting a full set of clothing under his graduation gown complete with sticking charm. The Head Boy chuckled quietly to Victoire as they passed, "Do you think they left him some means of relieving himself?" The cheeky would-be-streaker turned and winked before descending the spiral stairs all the while being chastised by his professor. The Head Master then beckoned the Student Heads back into the main interior of his office to finish going over the details of the ceremony they were about to kick off.

Victoire hoped to find Teddy before the ceremony started, but it seemed the administration was set on getting more Head Girl duties out of her in those couple hours than they had gotten all year. Despite actually playing a part in the ceremony, she felt detached and anxious. She should have written to him. She was a bit stubborn about not returning_ the owl_, but she really did think he needed to reach out to her first. It was ridiculous, she knew that. She knew Teddy. He was a rubbish writer. She had been amazed to receive as many letters as she did in the first 6 months they were separated. She was sure he would not know where to begin after his last correspondence - he had stopped writing to everybody after that one. And, he would probably have thought that writing would invade the freedom he had so _thoughtfully_ granted her.

Victoire's mind continued to wander back. She remembered Teddy before his graduation. His plans were in motion. In the time between his birthday and graduation, he had mapped out everything. In addition to taking NEWTS, he had developed a plan to follow his father's grand tour and still get back for university the following year. It would take the summer to earn the money he estimated was needed to do everything he wanted. They would spend as much time together as they could, and he would go the same week she left for Hogwarts. It took a lot of organizing, but everything had just fit together for him in the end.

Teddy had had so much going on when he graduated. Victoire was a little nervous about having to admit her current state of limbo. She knew Teddy had made the cutoff for accepting his position at Bimas this year. Uncle Harry and her father had verified that fact after finally contacting him last month somewhere in Asia. Victoire had gathered that much, but no one seemed to have any more details about Teddy beyond that.

Victoire's only plan after graduation was diving with Teddy to see the merpeople's village in Hogwarts Lake before she left the grounds. She had been asking him to go with her since first year. He had always put her off saying that she needed to be of age, finally promising to go with her on the stipulation that she waited until her graduation day. He even outlined everything they would need including a detailed map. She had the map in her graduation robes even though it wasn't strictly necessary. She knew it by heart. Today was the day. She was more excited about that at the moment than she was about the completion of her 7 years at the school.

Just…where was he? The kicker was that he could be here in the front row without her knowing it if he wanted. Teddy was a great mimic. Gifted with natural talent to shift his appearance at will, in school he had developed skills in impersonation to match. Analytical and perceptive, he would adopt mannerisms that would go along with his changed appearance. He learned to alter his voice sufficiently enough to pass for someone else. The only flaw in his skill was his habit of overlooking seemingly insignificant details like his watch or shoes that he would be wearing. Sometimes those indicators would be the only way someone could tell it was Teddy even if they were quite used to his tricks.

He would be wearing the watch, that was a given, as it was his father's. He would also quite likely be wearing the same shoes even after 2 years. Teddy liked things broken in. He wasn't big on possessions. The man comfortably fit everything he wanted for a yearlong expedition in one backpack – without magic. He found what he liked and he stuck to it.

Victoire wondered why he hadn't found her yet.

She located Sara with ease after all the pomp and most of the circumstance. They were soon crushed by a sea of classmates drawing out their goodbyes. That tide was closely followed by a wave of relatives and family friends, but no Teddy.

Alone on the edge of the water, she remained with the waves tickling up to her ankles. Digging her toes in the sand she stood there fighting off - she didn't even know what. She couldn't determine which emotion was strongest right now.

She had stayed after most everybody had left the grounds. She had stayed to say goodbye to Sara who was leaving the next morning for Brazil. She stayed, she thought, to say hello again to Teddy. But he was not there. Not at the graduation. Not at the rock on the shore where they spent so much time together - watching the sunset, listening to the waves, talking, snogging.

The grounds and the castle were eerily quiet after all the activity that afternoon. She was alone at Hogwarts. She didn't know why she thought for sure he would be there, but she did. She had been wrong.

She wanted to cry. She thought she should cry. That might have been the fastest way to get it out - to ease the weight in her chest - to release the pressure on which she was all but choking.

She wanted to cry but she couldn't. Deep inside anger was building, siphoning her energy away from the disappointment and into a growing ball of outrage. She planned for this. She counted on this. There was no contingency – no plan B.

It was not like she was ASKED if she felt tied down or if she needed a break. No. Someone else had made that choice for her. She was not asked, but she was definitely ASSURED that she still had the promise – this date.

It was theirs. Unmovable. More than a date with a girlfriend – this was a promise to a lifelong best friend. How could this **not** have happened?

Why was she here ALONE?

She was so sure. She never even considered anyone else going with her. So, here she stood. Alone.

She was missing out on the one thing she had wanted to do the most since coming to Hogwarts. Even before that, since first having heard the tales of the Tri Wizard Tournament. She kicked the water feeling her hope slip away like the drops that were sent flying._ No. Just, no_. She screamed inside her head. _ I'm done missing out. I'm tired of someone else making the choice for me._

She chose to go!


	3. Fun With Gillyweed

She was going to do this alone.

Victoire pulled off her cover-ups and walked out to the dock with wand at the ready. She took out the gillyweed - enough for two - and choked it down. UGGHH. It was disgusting but she was determined not to chuck it back up. She dove in swiftly before she could second-guess. Picturing the map in her head, she kicked off in the direction of the village keeping a close eye out for grindylows.

Her mum had trouble with those during the Tri-Wizard Tournament and as a result had never cared for them much. She taught Victoire and her siblings to defend themselves against grindylows even at a young age. They had grown up on the water so she was strict about the children learning every safety precaution related to wetness.

Victoire would be fine with grindylows if she could see them coming. Another person keeping an eye out would have been better, but she would just have to be good enough.

It did not take long to reach the village. Maintaining a respectable distance as not to offend or antagonize, Victoire was amazed by the underwater world. She glided above their main street and looked at the structures. How different everything must be down here and, yet, their lives were remarkably parallel to those on land. It was surreal and oddly serene. She felt the anger that had propelled her there drift away. She stopped thinking about herself and just enjoyed peering into the lives of others.

She circled around a grouping of houses and caught site of several children playing a game. She watched for a little while but knew her time underwater was coming to an end. She needed to leave herself enough time to get back to the surface before the gillyweed wore off.

Forty minutes had already passed. That realization in itself was a surprise. The visit certainly had not felt like it had been that long. Oddly enough, the grindylows she had anticipated had not materialized so none of the time had been devoted to them.

As she circled around one last time, she caught site of a glimmer in the murky water well beyond the boundary of the colony. She swam in that direction and saw something tucked under a rock ledge. Nearing, she could make out movement in what appeared to be a ball - a large oval shaped ball. She wondered if it was a toy that had gotten away from the children and drifted with the current until it hit the ledge. Retrieving the ball and sending it back to them would be easy.

Swimming in close and careful not to scrape against the sharp rocks, Victoire was just about to reach in for it when something moved within the interior of the ball yet again. She was close enough to make out a head and a tail. It wasn't a ball at all. It was an egg.

_Bloody hell._ An egg meant there was a Mum somewhere. And wherever Mum was, Victoire's current position had to have been between her and her egg. That proximity was both offensive and antagonistic. Victoire turned quickly to put some distance between Junior and herself, but didn't get far enough fast enough.

A huge tail caught her and slammed her against the rocks. Reeling for a moment before recovering, Victoire was met with a horse like head bearing teeth. Two hooves reared back to make a strike at her.

Victoire rolled instantly and dodged the hooves but the tail was quickly behind. It barely missed hitting her and she could feel the undertow of current in its wake. She pushed up and off the rock as hard as possible shooting a large flare of light from the tip of her wand. It was innocuous, but distracting. It bought her a few moments head start.

Victoire put all her strength into an upward climb hoping to get just far enough away that Mum would back down and return to the tadfoal. No such luck. Mum was right ticked that Victoire found her treasure, and she wasn't through punishing Victoire for that transgression. Mum set chase quickly making up the distance.

_Must be bloody nice having a tail_, Victoire thought. She contemplated hitting Mum with an impediment spell. There were several choices that would slow the animal down, but she couldn't focus on any one spell to cast. She didn't want to hurt Mum. She kind of understood her panic. Times like these made one long for the ability to speak to animals. _Why wasn't there a spell for that?_

They were in open water now – still a long way down. She had lost track of which way was north back to the castle grounds. Her only concern at this point was getting up to the surface. Mum circled in front and slammed that massive tail around again. Victoire changed trajectory with the force of impact, but it wasn't as bad as slamming into a rock wall.

She had already learned what it was like to be a snitch. Now Victoire understood how a bludger felt as well. She was getting sluggish and her pace was falling off. The drain was more than the effort of swimming or the effect of being batted around under the water – it had to be the properties of the gillyweed wearing off.

Victoire quickly performed a bubblehead charm to continue breathing underwater, but it wasn't as efficient for swimming. No longer having the benefit of webbed appendages to propel her through the water also slowed her progression. The first ragged breath she took resulted in a coughing spell with spurts of water leaving her body as the gills disappeared. She hiccupped. _UGGH_, she tasted the gillyweed again. _Yuck!_

The water finally began to seem less dense as the first rays of light became visible in the depth. Victoire continued to head up with great effort. Getting closer to the surface now, she could feel the adrenalin release through her system. She was going to shift right in the water.

_No, no, no_, she thought. She was unsure how that would work. She knew she had to calm herself down – to control it.

Mum hit her with another swipe of the tail. Luckily, Mum hit from below so the impact served to propel Victoire further toward the waves above. She was close – nearly breaking the surface with the latest vault. Shifting seemed like it might be the best option before Mum got the idea to pull her back down for another round. It would have to work - she could not think of a better idea. She summoned all her remaining strength, channeled everything into her core and concentrated.

Shifting made Victoire so much smaller she must have almost disappeared from Mum's view in the murky water. The large animal floundered below confused. Victoire beat her wings to propel herself out of the water. It was a tremendous effort to break through but, as she did, all resistance stopped. Her body shot out from between the choppy waves like a little golden bullet.

Having no bearings at first, Victoire was completely disoriented. Half scared that the hippocampus could jump from the water; she soared straight up just hoping to move away from the boundary of air and liquid. Being wet was uncomfortable. She was not as light or as dexterous as she was used to being in this form. Her feathers were matted and uncooperative. She had flown in the rain before, but in rain, the water hit from above and wicked off her body easily. Shifting while still submerged had soaked her through and through.

Figuring she had moved high enough out of range of her pursuer, she hovered and did a 360-degree survey to get her bearings. The sprint to the surface landed her above the middle of a large bay. It was a quick flight back to the dock. Without the insulation of dry feathers, however, it was a cold flight.

She hit the dock with an exhausted thud. She knew now would come the test. She had shifted under duress, but she had willed it at the time. If she could will herself back, no one would ever know that she had slipped again.

Touching down lightly on the dock, she felt a twinge on her left side. She stood on her right leg and experimentally moved the left one around. Bruised but hopefully not broken; traces of blood most likely from scratches incurred on the rock. It shouldn't stop her from shifting if she had her mental capacity together. Of course, there were those who would say her mental capacity was diminished to begin with for even considering what she had just done. But, again, she was alone. No one would have to know.

Victoire summoned her strength one more time - this would most likely be the last of it until she had devoured a fair amount of food and slept, oh, for days. A wave of relief swept through her as she did shift back to herself. The bleeding was more pronounced in human flesh. The worst scrape ran from below her left knee to her ankle. It was not so bad, though, just trickling down over the colorful dragonfly that adorned her ankle. She decided to rest for a short second and then clean herself up.

She had done it. Alone. She was mentally congratulating herself on accomplishing her goal when she heard several pops on the dock. Well, it was two pops on the dock and one large pop/splash just off the dock. Suddenly, she was surrounded by her father, Grant Hayes, and - sputtering from the water - Uncle Harry and Albus.

_Bugger!_ Now, she really wanted to be alone.


	4. All Fun And Games Until

It's All Fun & Games Until Someone Gets Summoned

"Wh – what are you all doing here?" Victoire asked as Harry and Al scampered up onto the dock dripping water all around them.

"We were summoned. Where are you hurt?" Her father dropped down on one side of her while Grant – well, Healer Hayes now – moved to the other and started examining her abrasions. _Damn_, she thought, _I should have healed them straight away.__They were likely to look worse than they felt._

"But, no. I didn't summon anyone…" Victoire began feebly in her own defense.

"Your father was thorough in his casting of the protective spells," Grant spoke up as he started surveying the damage and cleaning the scrape on her leg automatically. "There are several indicators that will trigger the summons without your direct intervention. His intent was to protect you even if you were unable to make the summons yourself. The blood on the mark – " he pointed his wand at her ankle before cleaning away the remains dried on the skin fully revealing the colorful dragonfly 'tattoo' beneath, "- it would have activated the summoning charm automatically."

"Well, I didn't mean to call anyone here. I'm fine." Victoire said confidently. The last thing she needed was to make this situation worse. Her father, although prone to some degree of irritability around the full moon, did not get mad often. When he did loose his usually easygoing manner he was unbelievably intimidating.

"You're beat to hell, Victoire," her father countered. "Who did this to you? Why are you out here on the lake?"

_Too late_, she thought. Dad was rapidly approaching mad. _If it weren't for overprotective irate parents, my day would be going so much better right now._

Al leaned over her feet trying to get a better look. "Vic, it really worked!" His unbridled enthusiasm was a sharp contrast to the tension in the air around them. At least one person believed her when she said she was ok. She was sure she looked a fair site better than the last time he found her. Of course, she was nearly dead then. That was what had brought on all the summoning business in the first place. That was why she couldn't scrape a knee without a crowd arriving. "I knew the mark would work," he beamed triumphantly, "but really, what happened?"

"You need to stay out of this" Harry pulled him back and cast a drying spell on the still dripping boy. "I told you to stay home. What were you thinking grabbing on to me as I left? Never do that again!"

Al wisely shut up. The boy was smart. He had gotten what he wanted obviously - he was there to see what was going on first hand – but he was clever enough not to push it further for fear of being taken home and missing out. He probably considered grounding after the fact a fair price to pay, but missing out would bother him.

Grant had finished Victoire's leg and was moving up her torso. He had conjured a blanket and covered her up as he went, inspecting the damage from toes to head. She winced slightly when he reached her ribcage. In the cold of the water, she had not noticed the pain in her side so much. "You have bruised a few ribs, but nothing is broken," Grant looked at her with warm brown eyes. His demeanor was comforting. He had seen her far worse off as well. She hoped his calm bedside - dockside in this case - manner would rub off on her dad. "Maybe you should answer your father." Grant coaxed gently. "I'm sure we would all like to hear your story."

Victoire recalled her tale leaving out the more exciting bits and downplaying everything she could while carefully gauging everyone's reaction. She saw Al's eyes grow huge. He was delighted in her adventure. Harry seemed ok as well, nodding in agreement with her description of the merpeople. Even her father calmed down a bit especially after Grant assured him that no real damage was done. Everything was superficial and, although she was likely to be sore, bruised, and scabbed up a bit, she was going to be back to normal in two weeks tops.

Bill cast a patronus to Charlie, Victoire's godfather, who was another member of her 'summoning circle'. He then sent one to Papa Arthur. Victoire's grandparents weren't part of the circle, but Bill thought they might be concerned if he or Nana Molly had caught site of their special clock directing its 'Victoire' hand to 'Mortal Peril' at any time during her dive.

Victoire cringed inwardly. She was not in mortal peril. Any competent witch or wizard should be able to handle a hippocampus! It was unexpected and certainly cranky but, really, where was the confidence in her ability? Bloody hell, now the whole family was going to be discussing it.

Bill was calm now, but he was not through with his daughter. "Why would you attempt this alone? You are smarter than that."

"I never intended to do it alone." She looked down at her feet not wanting to see their reaction to her excuse. She just graduated today. She was of age. How was it that she felt younger than Al at that moment? She took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, "I was expecting someone else to be here. We had agreed to do it together but in the end I was alone."

"You and Teddy were going to do this." It was Grant speaking. She looked at him with a fair amount of obvious surprise. He chuckled before explaining, "He talked about it a couple of times."

Victoire had forgotten that Teddy used to go to Grant with all sorts of things he wanted to talk about. She had always seen Sara as Grant's biggest fan, but Teddy had been the original. He had looked up to Grant who had been rather more helpful than the house prefect in Teddy's first year, and, as Grant went on to be a prefect himself and then Head Boy, he continued to make time for Teddy. That relationship was a testament to the kind of trust Grant inspired because Teddy had not been one to reach out to others - never having parents of his own and reluctant to burden his adopted family.

"You have been planning this for a long time," Grant surmised.

Victoire nodded. Wanting to end the subject before it got too personal, she continued with her explanation, "I didn't want to regret letting the chance pass me by so I just took it." Her father would surely understand that. He had always been a risk taker.

Bill stood up and extended his hand to help Victoire up as well. He turned to Grant who was now standing on the other side of Victoire and reached to shake his hand. "I have to thank you again for being there for us. I don't want to keep you. You are a good man, Healer Hayes."

"Call me Grant, please. And, although I can't say it has always been my pleasure as it usually involves some damage to Victoire, I can always say it's been interesting." He turned to Victoire, "Happy Graduation. You did it!" She was not sure if he was referring to school or her dive – probably both. With a wave of goodbye he was back to St. Mungo's.

Bill turned to Harry next; "I hope we didn't take you away from anything too important."

"No," Harry shook his head, "We were just getting the kids settled back home. Later tonight, Ginny and I are going to see Iska."

"What's an Iska?" Victoire asked glad to have the conversation move on to something else.

"Teddy's girlfriend," Al interjected sounding less than thrilled at the prospect. "Our first weekend home we get a babysitter because they're more important."

"You know that's not true." Harry asserted to his son although there was a faint trace of guilt in his expression as he explained, "She's taken a flat in London to be near Teddy while he attends school. They have wanted to get together for the last two weeks but today was the first day Ginny and I could coordinate something."

Victoire suddenly felt very cold despite the fact that she was now completely dry. She clutched the blanket closer to her. She turned and strode away under the pretense of gathering her clothes from the shore and putting them on over her swimsuit. Next to the clothes rested the parchment with the outline and the map she had carried all day. She felt an overwhelming desire to incinerate it. Never having been very good at fighting her impulses, she immediately waved her wand and watched as the ashes floated out over the water before dropping into the darkness below.

Bill would not let Victoire apparate alone. It was sure indication that she was still on shaky ground with him. If she knew him, though, he would downplay the events with her Mum. No one wanted to upset Fleur Delacour Weasley. Victoire's day ended as she left the grounds near Hogwarts via side along just like Al with his dad.

Happy Graduation!

Victoire knew her next plan would need to encompass two things - deciding what to do with her life starting tomorrow and not putting herself in the position of needing rescue yet again. Hopefully the new plan, whatever it turned out to be, would not take as long as the last to fulfill. First, though, she thought she might need to have a good cry.


	5. Seven is So Not My Lucky Number

"What are you doing now?" The question Victoire expected to hear often, being a week after graduation and this being the first family gathering she'd attended since.

Her little dive put a damper on all other post graduation activities. She skipped several schoolmate parties in the few days after Hogwarts. Though, with drinking the main agenda for most of those affairs, she considered herself better off. Victoire's last drink had been one part butterbeer, one part vindictive Hufflepuff, and a splash of what Healer Hayes referred to as her _mercurial _temperament. That little cocktail nearly cost Victoire her life so she didn't mind staying at home. She neither wanted to explain her abstinence nor push her luck. There'd been enough drama for her at the dock.

"I'm working for Ollivander this summer. His newest apprentice didn't make the cut. I'm helping while he searches for the next victim." In truth, she received his owl that morning, giving her the news and inquiring about her availability, but she thought it best to let people assume she'd intended to work at the wand shop all along.

"Oh, dear," Nana Molly clucked as she brought yet more food to the table in the Burrow's garden. Stopping to call out to suspend the Quidditch game for lunch, she turned without missing a beat and rejoined the conversation. "What's that so far - five?"

"Six," Grandpa Arthur corrected. "You're forgetting the German bloke. He lasted a week."

"Right twitchy he was," George interjected, snatching a roll from the latest platter set on the table. "His odds didn't even make for a good pool. Not like this last one – he had some convinced he'd stick. His departure proved quite profitable."

Victoire had helped Ollivander in his shop since the summer after her fifth year and Ollivander's fourth attempt to train an apprentice. She took the job as an excuse to spend time in Diagon Alley, where Teddy worked at Gringott's to pay for his trip. Time alone proved hard to come by, and her working down the street afforded them the opportunity to sneak breaks and carve out time together before anyone expected them – well, her - home.

Victoire began saving her pay checks to meet Teddy in Australia. The only person Victoire ever told was Sara. She needed Sara for support and planning to achieve her goal. She didn't want her parents to know until she had the money and, more importantly, until she was of age. Much better footing broaching the subject at seventeen, fully armed with said plan and the money to pay for it. She didn't tell Teddy, who'd be nearing the end of his tour when he hit Australia, for fear of ruining the biggest surprise she'd likely get over on him.

Turned out, he surprised her first.

"Break out the next pool, Uncle George, he's looking for lucky number seven." Victoire winked at her uncle before smiling at her grandparents. "Can you believe it? He's never going to retire."

Come to think of it, if her situation didn't improve, Victoire could see herself working for Ollivander until she was as gray as him. He still wouldn't have found anyone he trusted with his legacy and she still wouldn't have found something better to do. She'd be the batty old shop lady feeding stray cats out the back alley door. She'd smell like catnip and wand wax. Children would dare each other to come near her.

"Why don't you be his apprentice?" Lily dropped in a chair beside Victoire, flushed from the game. "Seven could be your lucky number. We already know he likes you."

"Me? No." Victoire snapped out of her sad little fantasy to tuck a bit of Lily's silky red hair behind her ear and tap her perky nose. True, Ollivander liked Victoire, which still amazed her. _Who knew almost destroying a man's store would be such a bonding experience? _

"Likeable doesn't mean qualified. I'm just a shop girl. Apprentices finish a complete course of study before applying, and Ollivander's still unimpressed with them."

"So, study Wandlore first." Lily's green eyes shone with confidence, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Bimas has the most extensive courses in Wandlore available," Aunt Hermione interjected, missing the implied disconnect between 'likable' and 'qualified'.

_Surprising as she was usually quite intuitive_.

More surprising still, the fact Victoire's status as 'Waitlisted' hadn't filtered through the extended family. She supposed, in a family like this, everyone assumed when you wanted something you went for it and you got it. _This group didn't have much experience wasting time on the B-List._

"You're going to uni?" Teddy's voice came from the garden gate behind Victoire.

Her heart stopped and the sight of him kicked the breath from her body. After so much time anticipating a reunion, she hadn't even considered he'd show that afternoon. Yet, he strode in from the makeshift pitch with the cousins, surprising everyone but her Arthur and Molly.

The way Teddy moved carried its own excitement. James and Fred flanked him, vying for his attention. A group of young Weasleys eagerly crowded behind. Al trailed after, the last to leave the pitch with his broom still over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure I'll be attending this year," Victoire replied carefully, her words drowned out by a sea of enthusiastic greetings.

She should've run to him. So much of her wanted to, but she remained rooted to the spot. _He'd met someone else._ The fact had been tumbling around in her head for days despite her best efforts to suppress it. He found someone else and she cursed herself for expecting anything different.

And yet, her mind automatically seized on another thought. _Teddy came alone_. She wondered what that meant and cursed herself again for caring.

She hid a thick swallow in her throat and stayed put.

Al moved through the gate, squeezing past the crowd to make his way to the shed.

"Alright Al?" Teddy put a hand on the boy's head. "You've had a haircut."

Al ducked away. "Yeah, I've had 'bout 30 of 'em."

Ginny shot Al a glare for his cheek, which he met with a defiant glance of his own.

"Sounds 'bout right." Teddy gave a cautious chuckle. He must've decided he best give Al his space and moved away from the gate to greet the adults. Lily jumped up from Victoire's side to cut Teddy off with an exuberant hug.

Victoire continued to hang back, unsure how to handle herself in his presence after her disappointment the week before. She still bore light scratch marks and bruising on her forehead, arm, and legs, added to some very tender ribs. Those things hadn't bothered her, she hadn't even taken time to cover them up. She knew she might have suffered the same injury if she hadn't been alone.

She was prepared to defend her choice of diving for the Mervillage to the family. They didn't know Teddy was the one she'd been waiting for. Not only at graduation, but ever since he'd left.

_Like a bloody fangirl._

Teddy, however, would know. The marks were there, leaving her anxious, leaving her self conscious about him seeing them. And knowing. They all but glared out she hadn't moved on. Always, somewhere in the back of her mind she held the belief nothing would change in all the time they were apart.

_Obviously, things had changed for him._

Victoire thought he changed. He looked different. He was broader, his once lanky frame now more filled out and defined. His hair a dark mahogany with glints of honey highlights. She wondered where the shade originated. His eyes were dark - not their natural amber or even the rich brown he preferred his NEWT year - but a shade not far from black. She didn't remember ever seeing his eyes so dark.

Teddy had a habit of collecting features from those around him. Ever the mimic, he seamlessly blended different physical traits - eyes, mouth, dimples, you name it - to alter his own appearance as it suited him. Innocent, persuasive, thoughtful, intelligent, intimidating. He had quite a range. Subtle enough most people didn't realize.

The sophisticated appearance he'd assumed unnerved Victoire. The look seemed out of place at the Burrow. He carried himself differently also. He appeared so adult Victoire felt all the more childish with her scrapes and bruises.

Al dropped down in the seat Lily vacated. "Glad you're not joining the welcome parade. Fred and James are tripping over their skirts like a couple of fangirls."

Nana Molly broke up the love fest by shooing everyone to the table. Of course, she took the opportunity to give Teddy a huge hug of her own without the added competition. She then led him to an open spot at the far end of the table.

"Hey, you took my seat!" Lily returned set on retaking possession from her brother.

"You were busy," Al responded.

"Give it back!" Lily tried to push him off.

Her brother remained unperturbed by her threatening glare. "Mine now."

Victoire intervened before an all out brawl ensued, conjuring an extra chair and making Al scoot down to make room for it - and Lily - on her other side.

Ginny set drinks in front of each of them. "You two better learn to get along or I'm not going to let Vic take you to the boat this summer. She doesn't need the aggravation."

"No worries, Aunt Gin. I can either dunk 'em or let the fairies have a go at 'em." Victoire tried to sound light but only managed a tinny quality in her voice. She didn't chance a glance down the table.

"I'm good with that." Ginny winked at Victoire before proceeding to her place.

"So," Victoire turned to Al and asked, "are you still on restriction for jumping your dad's Apparition?"

He shook his head. "Nah, Dad downplayed it with Mum."

"You're lucky. You know that?" She shook her head. Nothing stuck to that kid.

"Not lucky. Good." He smirked.

Victoire wished she could be either. Then maybe she could determine how to make a graceful exit. At the moment she had nothing. Even her appetite left her. Pushing the food around her plate, she had yet to look at the far end of the table. She wondered how soon she could escape.

_Hmmm, better to face the inevitable ribbing she'd be taking for her recent misadventure and deflect it a little? Or, better to leave and save herself the ordeal only to wonder what'd be said in her absence?_

Not looking didn't stop Victoire from hearing. She cringed as Neville's voice drifted from the vicinity. "No, she didn't get the gillyweed from me and don't even think about it," she overheard him telling Louis and Fred.

_Oh, no, _she thought,_ it's started_.

Victoire dared a glance down the table in what turned out to be a huge tactical error – her Uncle George smiled at her. "Terrorizing the air not enough for you anymore, Vic; you're taking on the water now as well."

"Isn't there a swamp still in the halls of Hogwarts marking your last day? I hardly think I topped that stunt," Victoire returned. It was a good effort, but not retort enough to stop the conversation once started.

James, sitting right by Teddy, piped up then nearly vibrating with curiosity, "How big was it? How many times did you slam against the rocks before you got away?"

"James!" Ginny gave her eldest a stern stare.

"What?" he asked innocently. "You said I couldn't bring it up. I didn't. No one ever said we couldn't talk about it if someone else brought it up."

"Who said I slammed against the rocks?" Victoire glared at Al.

"Not me. Must have been Dad," Al insisted with his hands up in the air.

James continued as if on a mission, trying to get as far as possible with the questioning before Ginny shut him down.

Unfortunately for Victoire, the damage was done. The whole table tuned in when James said, "Dad made it sound bad, what with the blood and the broken ribs!"

"Bruised. Not broken. There was no breaking," Victoire assured.

"If you don't count the skin," Fred supplied.

_Arghh_, _I used to like the cousins._

Ginny was already after her eldest. "How did … ok, where are they?"

"Where are what?" In contrast to his little brother, James did not do innocent well. He was far too much an open book and no one – especially his mother – bought the act.

"The extendable ears. I'll want them as soon as we get home. Not like they're even doing you any good - you got the story wrong," she finished shaking her head.

"Was a bit out of range," James mumbled.

"Really, it was a quick encounter," Victoire started in an attempt at damage control. "I got out just fine. I'd have been completely unscathed if I hadn't run into an overprotective mum."

"What about grindylows?" Roxanne asked, wide-eyed, from the other side of Lily. She had a healthy fear of the water and by extension everything in the water.

"I was fully prepared for them. You think I saw even one?" Victoire shook her head.

"You can be sure grindylows are clever enough to stay well away from a foaling hippocampus," Lysander supplied.

_How helpful. Who invited him? _

"How was it?" Rose spoke up, her eyes shining with possibility.

"Amazing. Words don't do justice." Victoire really meant that, and the memory brought a smile to her face despite the unruly turbulence of her nerves. _Maybe she'd get through the day after all._

Teddy remained silent during the exchange. She dared not look directly at him. _Oh, you're still there?_ Yeah, that's how she was playing it. No relation between him and the conversation going on.

"Are mermaids as beautiful as their portraits?"

Victoire laughed. "Not in the least."

A few more questions about the village itself and the conversation had run its course. That seemed to be the end of the share and tell section of lunch. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Relief didn't completely unclench the tight ball of apprehension in the pit of Victoire's stomach. It lessened a bit, but she still couldn't think of eating. She was glad to have Nana Molly engaged elsewhere and not on the usual prowl to get the family to consume more food.

Victoire jumped up first to help clean the table as the family finished the meal. She took a few extra minutes to compose herself in the kitchen before heading back outside. No small_ wonder she hadn't broken anything._

Coming out the door, she caught sight of the table, now filled with an array of deserts. She wasn't sure what her grandparents would do with themselves if the family didn't routinely gather at the Burrow for Sunday lunch, but Victoire would venture if they dropped Nana Molly off in famine infested regions she might actually end world hunger.

Half the crowd remained sitting, some already tucking into desert. The remainder milled around the yard. The Quidditch game hadn't resumed, as many of the prime players busied themselves with the sweets.

Another thing that hadn't changed for Victoire in two years - how tuned in she was to the exact timbre of Teddy's voice. She actually felt it in her spine. "I can't believe how much I missed, how the kids have changed. Vic graduating, wow."

"Graduat_ed_." Al corrected with emphasis from nearby. "Last week. You missed that too."

"Ok, that's it, we're going. Mum, thanks for lunch," Ginny announced obviously still adjusting to having all three high energy kids back home full time. With Harry and Ron off somewhere else that day, no one was around to balance her load or convince her otherwise.

"But I'm not finished yet!" James whined over his desert.

"Yes, you are." Ginny pulled James up as he grabbed everything possible from his plate and shoved it all in his mouth. "Vic, I can't imagine why you'd want to, but you can pick them up whenever you're done with work tomorrow. _If_ you're still interested."

Lily piped up, "Please, I didn't do anything."

"I'll be there," Victoire assured her. "Have your swimmers packed. Its supposed to be hot," she advised as the Potters made their way to the floo. Turning around she found herself face to face with Teddy.

"Graduat_ed_," he mimicked Al's tone, "and the Mervillage. Big week for you." He smiled a warm, spontaneous smile.

"Big day, actually," she corrected, unsure what her own face might be doing.

"Without a doubt, but you made it. And, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

She cocked her head and stared at him, gobsmacked. "What is that worth?"

_Out loud_.

Victoire couldn't believe she'd said that out loud. Now she sounded like Al the sullen thirteen year old. She wondered if it was too late to have Ginny take her home too.

Teddy had the decency to appear worried as he struggled for words without really coming up with any.

"You know what? Just forget it," she responded evenly, trying to back track from her previous slip. "I did fine on my own."

"Yeah, you look it." By the expression on his face, he meant to tease. An attempt to deflect the tension. By the look on her face, he clearly missed.

"Excuse me." She turned without qualifying her departure. _The best excuse was no excuse, right?_ Victoire made her goodbyes asking her grandparents to send Louis and Dominique home by floo when they were done playing Quidditch.

She went directly home, not surprised to find her parents out. They ran a charity foundation focussed on helping Lycans and their families make a decent life for themselves. The war of blood purity may have been over, but victory didn't mean society was free of prejudices. The bias remained, merely subtler.

Today her patents were hosting a fundraiser, and with her siblings still occupied at the Burrow, Victoire actually had some time alone at home. She collapsed on the sofa in a heap before realizing she'd forgotten her shoes. She'd kicked them off somewhere at the Burrow.

She wasn't about to go back for them. Her sister would probably find them somewhere and grab them when she left. _Dominique was good that way._

Victoire performed a quick cleaning spell on her feet and proceeded to prop them up on the sofa, lying back and sticking a pillow over her face.

Almost an hour later, Victoire had neither worked up the ambition to move from the spot nor drifted off to sleep. The doorbell rang, stirring her out of her thoughts. She contemplated ignoring it, but when it rang again, she decided whoever was on the other side wasn't inclined to go away.

Victoire opened the door to find Teddy. He handed her a long slim box with a red bow on it.

"Did you just dart out to the corner market for this?" It did look about the size of a box of spaghetti.

"No," he replied accepting her tone with an indulgent shake of his head.

"Pop back home and find something to throw in a box?"

"Just open it and stop trying to make me feel like a bigger git. Al's on a mission for that already."

Victoire pulled the ribbon to open the lid and gaped. Inside lay an exquisite quill unlike any she'd ever seen. The feather a brilliant azure blue with the fringe on the end shimmering silver. The light dancing over the richly coloured surface was nothing short of mesmerizing.

"One of these hasn't been available in Europe for 50 years." His voice washed over her smooth, earnest. "If you have any more doubt as to my intent for the gift, you might take note, its the exact colour of your eyes."

He reached across the distance separating them and tilted her chin up, tearing her eyes away from the quill until she met his gaze. "I didn't forget about you."

"Thank you," she managed, even more mesmerized.

He stepped inside the door and, for the first time in almost two years, Victoire felt his arms around her again. His warm breath in her hair, his deep voice resonated in her ear, "I'm sorry."

For what, exactly, she wasn't sure. _The owl, the silence, the graduation, the village_?

She didn't ask.


	6. The Fine Art of Reciprocity is Dead

**Chapter 6: The Fine Art of Reciprocity is Dead**

_The man knew more about wands than anyone else living – how was it that performing simple cleaning charms were completely beyond him?_ Victoire examined the tiny storefront on her first day back and shook her head. Ollivander was brilliant, talented and entirely oblivious to dust. He also had a knack for leaving things where they landed when he finished with them. Good for him, his memory seldom failed him. For those who worked around him, the habit posed a challenge.

Victoire wished she had a knut for every time she needed to poke her head into his workroom to ask where the measuring tape or sales slips ended up; she wouldn't have to work. Of course, she wouldn't be making those knuts if she weren't working...

"Good Morning, Victoire." Ollivander poked his head out from the back room. "It's good to see you, dear. How were your exams and graduation?"

"Stressful and typical in that order." _He didn't have to know everything_.

She followed his nodding white head into the backroom, stashing her bag on the peg of the coat rack as she passed. He handed her some tea straight away. Darjeeling. That meant he expected to complete a wand. Victoire always guessed Ollivander's daily agenda by his tea choice.

"So, what are you finishing today?" She snuck a peak at his workbench. "Holly, 'bout 12 1/4?"

"Good eye! The core shall be one of the unicorn hairs you collected for me last summer." Ollivander reached into a drawer on the bench and retrieved the hair as he spoke.

Victoire remembered finding the fine white hair the first time she returned to the forest after her hospitalization. Grant insisted she wouldn't be fully recovered until she ventured back and proved to herself she had control. He could be quite the nag sometimes. The trip wracked her nerves, but she endured and was rewarded with a rare glimpse of the unicorns in the forbidden forest. With sharpened senses and an exceptional view from above, she picked up on the stray hairs left by the magnificent animals. She took them as a good sign and proudly presented them to Ollivander upon her return.

"I suppose I should keep an eye out for more, then." Victoire smiled over her tea. "So, tell me, what happened to your last apprentice? Everything seemed to be going well Easter break."

Ollivander scowled into his cup. "He suggested experimenting with thestral hair for a core as they would be easier to obtain."

"Well, that'd do it."

"I tell you, young lady, I may have used the occasional griffin feather after the war when supplies ran sparse. Honourable animals they are, produced some excellent wands for protection," he affirmed with a definitive nod.

"But, thestrals?" Ollivander shook his head at such blatant absurdity. "We deal in quality here, not volume. I cannot fathom what gave him the idea I'd even consider altering my core standards for a harbinger of death simply because they're plentiful." Ollivander punctuated his speech with the thud of his cup on the workbench.

Victoire held her cup in front of her mouth to hide the smile she couldn't quite stop. "He liked exotic cores. I remember him being quite inquisitive about my French wand."

Ollivander huffed. _Opinionated_ didn't begin to describe his reaction to Victoire's second wand.

Of all the compromises Bill and Fleur Weasley made in their marriage, wand choice for their children remained the most epic. In the end, Fleur held strong to the belief a school wand served more as a trainer and a mature, fully educated wizard attracted a more powerful wand. Victoire and her siblings received their first wand from Ollivander before starting Hogwarts and their second from the Delacour's wand maker after their seventeenth birthday.

Victoire's second contained a rare fairy dust core. To be honest, she found the fairy wand the most fun to use. It emitted a multicolour glow for charms and something akin to small fireworks for hexes. She avoided letting Ollivander know, however. She carried a 'fine British wand with a unicorn hair from a lovely little filly' for work which proved quite effective, only not so flashy.

"You cannot put any magical creature into a core and expect the wand to act reliably. I will not tolerate that kind of recklessness in my shop." Ollivander swept his hand over the workbench, nearly sending the unicorn hair to the ground with the motion. Such a dramatic gesture tended to signal the end of the rant was near.

Sure enough, Ollivander offered Victoire a warm up on her tea, and they began their day.

Outside the pre-Hogwarts rush, shop hours in the wand business weren't always teeming with activity. The morning passed before Victoire encountered her first customer. She was finishing the dusting when a tall man sauntered in. "G'day," he greeted before she managed to say a word. "I was hoping you could tell me about this wand." He pulled out a long wand, handing it to her with a flirty grin.

"Good morning." Victoire accepted the wand for a quick inspection. "This is a 14 inch yew with a dragon heartstring at its core."

"How can you tell dragon heartstring?" the man asked, gaping at his wand in her hand as if the contents would be written on the wood somewhere.

"The feel of the wand, actually." She dismissed his amazement with a shrug. "You work here long enough; you learn to differentiate a wand's makeup by feel."

"Felt a lot of wands, have you?" he teased with a suggestive glint in his gray eyes.

Victoire mentally kicked herself. You'd think by now she'd see those things coming, but no, she blindly set herself up. "I don't keep track of the ones I've felt. Only the ones I've snapped in half."

That number: six. And much to her dismay, Ollivander wouldn't hear of Victoire paying for them or the other miscellaneous damage she caused to his shop. For that reason, she was certain she'd spend the rest of her life flying the woods in search of unicorn hair for the man.

"Good to know." The dark haired flirt nodded his before leaning in and lowering his voice, "What's the possibility of finding the previous owner?"

"I don't know. Was it purchased here?" Victoire replied in the same stage whisper. You'd think they weren't the only ones in the store.

"I wish I could say yes, but I make a point never to lie to a beautiful woman."

She met his comment with a raised eyebrow. He changed tactics without missing a beat. "Truth is, I don't know. I hope it was." He finished with a hopeful puppy dog face.

Victoire tapped the end of his wand with hers. A symbol appeared in the wood before disappearing again. "It's an Ollivander wand for sure. Our emblem is placed on all wands from this shop and cannot be duplicated elsewhere."

"Excellent! Do you have any idea how many wand makers there are on this continent alone?" He seemed immensely relieved, "I knew this was my lucky day the minute I laid eyes you!"

"Your luck may have just run out. I can't tell you any more myself." As she spoke, his face fell. This time he wasn't trying. He looked like she'd snatched his chew toy away.

Victoire could never handle seeing disappointment in someone's face.

"Ollivander would tell you right off who made the purchase," she rushed to assure him, "but he stepped out for a while." She thought for a moment before turning to the shelves behind the counter. "All sales are automatically catalogued in this book." She levitated a massive volume toward a small table behind the store shelves only to find the man rounding the counter behind her. The close proximity with the stranger unnerved her, and the book wavered in midair over the table as if responding to her unease.

The man steadied the book by hand and guided the thick volume the remainder of the way to the table's surface. When Victoire glanced up to thank him, she found him staring as if trying to place her. She decided to put some distance between them when he spoke.

"You're Victoire."

"Yes…" _Had they met?_ She didn't want to ask, embarrassed someone would recognize her when she had no recollection of meeting them.

"I'm Owen. I travelled with Teddy for a year." He offered his hand as if they were already friends.

"Good, we have never met! Oh…I mean… I couldn't place you …" She took his hand, at last, allowing him to grasp hers in a firm shake as he laughed at her. "Still, how on earth did you place me?"

"Teddy didn't carry much, but he had a picture of you. Didn't recognize you right away, though. You've grown up a bit." He pointed to Victoire's eyes. "Teddy's turned the same colour when he read your letters. I pegged him on it one night. Changed staring at the fire, too. Made him admit he'd been holding back about you and his abilities."

"Ah, everyone at school knew. By the time he graduated, he was tired of people asking for tricks. I guess he stopped telling." Knowing whom this man was made Victoire much more at ease. He seemed more natural as well, easing up on the flirty attitude.

Victoire turned back to the book. She'd indexed the archive last summer in a fit of boredom and curiosity. The indexing was a trick Sara had taught her for homework, but she found its real world application much more entertaining as the trick allowed nosey her to find specifics on anyone's wand for kicks. She thought today they might be able to use the index to get a list of potential owners by wand type.

"I bet we can even find out before Ollivander gets back," Victoire assured Owen. "I mean, how many 14 inch yews with dragon string core could've been sold here?"

253.

_Apparently, going back to 382 BC provided a significant chance for overlap_.

"Ok, so this is going to be a little more involved than I thought." Victoire spell copied the list of results to a piece of parchment. "Do you know about when the wand was purchased?"

"Over twenty-one years ago." He scanned the list. "Doesn't eliminate even one."

"Sadly, no. Why don't you tell me what you do know and what exactly you hope to learn?" She pulled the list from him and waited.

He sized her up before answering, "I think it's my Dad's. Mum never told anyone about him. I found the wand in her things after she died. My family's muggle, so must be his."

Victoire wanted to say she was sorry, but he continued in a rush looking around as he said, "Thing is, I don't want anyone to know I'm looking. Teddy's the only person I've told." Owen's expression became serious for the first time since he strode through the door.

"Is this the wand you use?"

He shook his head. "Tried to use the thing while back when my original got stolen. This one doesn't suit me. Had to buy another."

"Why don't you leave the wand with me so I can ask Ollivander? If he remembers, which he always does, the list is irrelevant." She watched his face completely turn around at her words.

"You're the best!" Sounding like an enthusiastic five year old, he threw his arms around her. They returned the book and walked around the counter just as the door opened.

Teddy. Victoire smiled automatically at the sight of him. Her mind flew back to countless times he strolled through that very door to take her out or take her home. They had snogged quite a few times in the little alcove she and Owen just used for their research.

"Hey, mate! Guess who I met today?" Owen pulled Victoire out of her reverie before she embarrassed herself with a full on blush. He swung an arm around her shoulders like they were lifelong pals.

Teddy blinked for a moment. "Great. That's…that's great."

"I wouldn't say great." Owen glanced at Victoire then back to Teddy, continuing with the same loud whisper he'd used earlier. "She seems immune to my considerable charms. That's never good, definitely not great."

"That's what you call charm?" Victoire scoffed. "Our spello-tape supplier has more game and he's ancient!"

"I got you to help me, didn't I? Course the help wasn't even that great - 253 names - not what I call a short list." Owen barely managed to complete his statement before having to dodge the rolled up list she used to bat him over the head.

Teddy gave them an odd stare and a tight smile, but made no comment. Victoire's stomach took a dip as he wandered around and into the back, surveying the stock and Ollivander's latest wand. She wondered if he was remembering as well. She tried to read him - what he was thinking, feeling - to determine if it was remotely similar to what was happening in her head. Her smile faltered. Maybe all he felt was regret, or worse - nothing.

Owen kept up a running commentary, doing most of the talking and looking over the workshop in back with intense curiosity. He was the only one who seemed comfortable. Victoire barely believed it. _This was so stupid._ _Why should this be awkward? She and Teddy had never been awkward with each other._

Teddy finally spoke, "He cleared out quite a bit."

"There was an incident a while back that prompted a reorganization of the inventory," Victoire stated, using the same terminology Ollivander himself had since the day she first transformed.

"Someone not able to handle the wand they selected?" Owen smirked, amused by the prospect.

"Not exactly," Victoire answered, _more like an animal control issue_.

The front door opened again. "Don't touch anything." Victoire pointed at Owen before she left the guys in back to attend to the customer. Walking out from behind the shelves, she approached the side of the counter to find a rather posh young woman crossing the threshold. A cloud of perfume preceded the pretty brunette into the shop.

"Good morning, may I help you?" Victoire employed her best please-let-me-be-of-service voice.

The woman gave her an appraising glance while offering an efficient smile before scanning the interior of the small shop. "I'm looking for someone. Theo?"

"I'm sorry. There's no Theo here –"

"There you are!" The woman breezed past Victoire, throwing her arms around Teddy.

All trace of apprehension in Teddy's features disappeared at the sight of her. "Iska, I'd like you to meet Victoire." He turned the woman to face Victoire. "Victoire, this is my Iska," he continued with a proud smile.

Victoire took a deep breath and gave the now beaming woman her best smile. "Hi, Iska. Nice to meet you." She glanced at Teddy. "And you too, _Theo_."

Teddy laughed. "I can't believe you two are finally meeting." He seemed so happy to have them both in the same room. Victoire wished she had even a fraction of his enthusiasm. She hoped that didn't show.

While Victoire felt herself unravelling, Iska appeared perfectly composed as she returned the greeting with a bright smile. "A pleasure. We," she said, lacing her arm with Teddy's, "are so happy to be here in London. We simply must catch up some time. I hate to be rude, but, right now, I'm afraid I have to steal Theo away." She gave Teddy a little pout. "We really need to get going. I do so hate to keep people waiting." Then she smiled back at Victoire. "I hope you understand. We really must catch up later." She turned Teddy toward the door.

Teddy hesitated in the doorway causing Iska to stutter to a stop as well. "Bye, Vic. We're still on for the Leaky, right O?"

Owen nodded, and they were gone.

"How long has he been_ Theo_?" Victoire asked as she peered out to the street.

"Since he met Iska." Owen cocked his head, examining her.

"How long has that been?"

"A while."

Apparently, restating the direct question wasn't going to get her a concrete answer. For someone who arrived soliciting her help, Owen was being rather unhelpful himself. _Shouldn't there be some sort of reciprocity here? One good deed and all that_. She was getting nothing of value from this guy.

"Feeling very succinct all a sudden?" she challenged.

"Need to be," he asserted.

Despite her aggravation over Owen's lack of sharing, Victoire followed through on her promise. To that end, she found herself detouring to the Leaky Cauldron after her shift. She didn't really have the time. She'd also promised her siblings and the Potter kids she'd take them to the boat after work, but Owen would be waiting for Teddy at the pub, and she wanted to get his wand back to him.

Owen was easy to spot in the pub, but his companion caused her to hesitate before approaching the table. She hadn't expected Teddy to be at the pub already. They were by the window, talking and laughing. Her inner coward contemplated leaving. _She could always return the wand via owl, right?_

Really, some days she had no idea why she was sorted into Gryffindor.

She had to man up, however, as Owen caught sight of her and waved her over. "Oy, beautiful. I knew you couldn't stand to be apart from me for long." He pulled a chair out for her.

"You're the one leaving your possessions scattered about." She handed him his wand. "Pretty loose with your wand, I'd say. No wonder you lost the previous one."

He scowled. "Didn't loose it. It was stolen. But, that's a story for another time." He waved for the waitress, turning back with a smile and a wink. "No shame in placing your wand in the hands of a beautiful woman. Loose would've been leaving it with the hag from the apothecary."

"I thought you went for the mature type." Teddy laughed.

"That's cougar, mate, not jackal," Owen shot back as the waitress approached. "Looks like my shout. Another round, love, and whatever the lady would like."

"Oh, thanks, but I can't stay." Victoire smiled at the girl who nodded and returned to the bar. She felt like a jerk, knowing she might be about to kill their good time. "I just came to let you know what I found." They both focussed on her and her resolve wavered.

She opted to go fast, like removing a plaster. "Ollivander didn't sell the wand but, he recognized it as one made by his father. Narrowing the list to any wand sold between the time his father started making wands and the time Ollivander took over the shop, we're down to a dozen wands. Two sold to women." She stopped for breath, pointing to the names starred on the list. "So, we can leave those alone for now."

She handed Owen a copy of the revised list. Victoire couldn't imagine what he was experiencing as he scanned the names for some kind of clue. He had yet to speak. She turned to Teddy for some signal, only to find him studying Owen as well.

With no one else speaking, Victoire panicked at the silence and rushed on, "I can help you look into the names. We can ask Professor McGonnegal. I'll introduce you. She is retired now. She was likely at Hogwarts when many of these wizards went to school-"

Teddy's deep voice interrupted her rambling. "She's right. We can do this. Start by eliminating anyone who still has their wand and focusing on those remaining." He took the list of names from Owen and placed the marked up parchment on the table. "Come on, stay put for once, work here and make your way through the list."

Owen nodded his head. "Yeah, I can. Uncle Joe'd let me base out of London."

"Be brilliant having you around." Teddy placed his hand on Owen's shoulder. "With all of us helping, a dozen possibilities are nothing."

"Yeah?" Owen returned. "You gonna be getting off the leash any time, mate?"

"Bugger off! Not my fault you can't find a girl who'll stand you for more than a day."

"Don't see the issue, Captain Monogamy. Long as every day brings a girl, life's good." Owen winked at Victoire.

"So, you're staying. Umm, ahh, what do you do for Uncle Joe?" Victoire's words stumbled awkwardly over her need not to hear any more of their current conversation.

"My family owns a string of hotels and resorts," Owen explained. "Muggle establishments, but we cater to wizarding society as well. I am a liaison, of sorts, dealing with our wizard clients."

"Creative way to stay in the family business."

"Mum started the trend during Voldemort's second rise. She designated suites in all the hotels to be kept open for wizards. They served as portals - magical depots for muggle relatives and muggle-borns to escape. To Australia, where I'm from, or the States where we have several hotels."

"Wow," Victoire said, impressed, "she must've been quite a woman to pull off that kind of operation."

"She was," Owen said and picked up his drink. "A toast to moving to London." He raised his glass to Teddy, and then turned to Victoire. "Seriously, love, we need to get you a middy, at least."

"Oy, no, it's getting late. I should post Professor McGonnegal before leaving the alley." Victoire continued almost to herself, "Should let Ginny know I'm running off schedule." She surveyed the pub before scrambling in her bag for some parchment to jot down a note. "Maybe Mrs. Longbottom will let me borrow her owl."

"Still late for everything." Teddy teased. "Ginny's known you long enough; sure she needs to be told?"

Victoire shot him a glare as she dug for a quill, realizing this would be her first note with the new one. Very fitting Teddy be involved, even if he insisted on taking the Mickey. "Life outside the clock can be liberating."

Teddy scoffed, but she continued before he could retort. "On the bright side, I dare say you may've found a way to cure another of my bad habits." Retrieving the brilliant quill from her bag, she flourished it with a smile. "I'm not likely to be leaving my quill around to get lost anymore."

"Hey, I know that quill," Owen piped up. "I've been trying to get it away from him forever. Every game we played – chess, cards, darts, gobstones - every quidditch match we ever watched I tried to bet him out of it. The wanker never wagered the quill."

Teddy looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Here, why don't you use this one and put the other away so he quits whining," Teddy hastily pulled out a spare quill from Victoire's bag.

Owen started to shoot back a reply when he caught site of something behind Victoire and bit back his retort. He looked at Ted who was hastily placing the blue quill he had snatched from Victoire's hand back into her bag.

_Ok, that was odd_. "Did you two steal the quill?" Victoire looked between them somewhat amused.

"Quill stealing. Now, boys, can't I leave you for one hour on your own? Whatever am I going to do with you two?" Iska cooed as she approached from behind Victoire. She glided around to Teddy who dutifully stood to take her bags and pull out her chair for which he was rewarded with a fluttering of eyelashes and a kiss lasting a few beats too long for mixed company.

"Don't leave us next time," Teddy replied smoothly.

Victoire looked at Owen. For the first time in their short acquaintance, his usually animated face appeared unreadable. Teddy quickly ordered Iska a drink and started on about how hungry everyone must be. Since Victoire already mentioned she wasn't able to stay, she took that as a sign her time there was done.

"I should get going," Victoire said unnecessarily. Iska was sweetly correcting the server on her order of ice water. Apparently when ordered ice water, she meant she wanted the water ice cold but certainly not with any ice in it. Teddy, looking uncomfortable again, stood as Victoire did.

She turned first to Owen and took the hand he offered. "I'll get in touch with you when I hear back from Professor McGonagall - or maybe Hagrid – he'd be another good person to ask."

"You sure you have to go?" Owen asked.

_Poor boy,_ Victoire had delivered bad news, and now she was leaving him alone with a front row seat to 'Smitten Cinema'. He looked slightly pained. She leaned in and whispered, "If you need a break, you might want to get your own refill. There's a lovely brunette sitting at the bar stealing glances at you."

He brightened up considerably. "I like the way you think."

Victoire turned to Teddy who had grabbed her plain quill and still blank parchment from the table. "Thanks, I wouldn't want to forget a quill in this company," she said with no real humour as she grabbed the items, careful not to touch him. "Good to see you again, Iska," Victoire ventured, although Iska gave little indication she did see Victoire since wafting to the table.

Iska looked up. "Yes, certainly. Theo talks so little of his former friends." With that, she grabbed his hand and gazed into his eyes. Victoire waited a few beats for one of them to complete the thought, but apparently, they had.

Victoire went directly home from the pub. She never owled Professor McGonagall. Or Hagrid. Or Ginny. She used the bit of parchment she retrieved from the table to write another note instead.

_**Here Theo,**_

As much as she hated using that name, she was unable to bring herself to call him Teddy. Teddy was never afraid to admit he had a relationship with her. When Victoire started Hogwarts two years after him, a first year girl wasn't a cool friend to have in the eyes of his dorm mates, but he remained loyal – even turning them around. When she used to wait for him outside Gringotts and some bloke lingered to chat her up, Teddy walked up confidently and told them directly – she's my girl. Now, she was only good enough to be a friend when nobody else was looking.  
_  
__**You keep it. I have absolutely no interest in a gift someone is ashamed to have given me.**_

Leaving the note unsigned, Victoire attached the parchment to the box he'd originally wrapped the quill in and sent everything off. She may not be cool, she no longer had a beautiful quill, but she had her dignity.

With the kids entertained on the swim platform off the end of the boat, Victoire was free to take stock of the progress made in the repairs while she was at school. The boat had been her find. To this day, she wasn't exactly sure what had made her fight to have it. The purchase cost all the money she had saved for Australia.

She wasn't exactly sure what made her father agree either, but once he had, he rallied the family around the project, which become sort of a mecca for Wesley's in need of a cause. Grandma Molly emerged as the biggest supporter of the idea. The debate raged as to whether she was more inspired by her need for people to work up an appetite so she could feed them or by her need to get a recently retired Grandpa Arthur out of the Burrow. Whatever the reason, almost everyone contributed some level of effort to restore the big old boat to its former glory.

Without a doubt, far more than her father's weekly poker games with old curse breaking buddies had been taking place at the boat during the school year. Victoire couldn't believe all the family had accomplished since her last visit. The interior cabins were almost finished.

The interior cabins had come together nicely, but the outside was still rough. Big jobs remained, not the least of which involved refinishing the outer decks. The hull required work so the boat could be considered seaworthy, and the engine needed an overhaul before the boat would move even with magic.

The need to get into the engine area brought Victoire to a halt at the door in front of her. She'd purchased the boat, but she was not in complete control over the vessel. The ship came inhabited by a troop of fairies.

Fairies who enchanted doors to lead to a different room every time you walked through them. Fairies who turned an interior cabin into an aquarium for the resident ramora. Fairies who had barricaded themselves into the engine room two days ago and refused to open up until talking to Victoire.

"Can't we work this out?" she pleaded through the thick teak door, careful not to touch the knob. Her father had been shocked and teleported to an old stump 3 miles away in the neighbouring woods the instant he tried to turn it two days ago. Louis, not knowing what happened, tried the knob himself and landed on top of his father.

"I thought we had come to a good compromise. Can't you see what this boat could be with a little care given? If we could simply spent a little more time on her –"

"Time is what you have squandered," a tight little voice replied from inside. "Squandered your energy as well on the past you cannot change. Change what you can in the present. The present serves you much better."

"I haven't squandered my time." Victoire rested her forehead against the wood. "I was at school."

"School past eight rises ago without your attention. Your attention has been on yourself alone. Alone you shall stay," a second voice accused. That voice Victoire recognized immediately – Faun – easily the most maniacal of the troop.

_Great. _Victoire wished she could just talk to Matera alone. Matera was the mother hen of the troop and the least likely to impale her on a stump. _Where's all my dignity now_, she wondered as she slid down to the floor and rested against the door.

"I can't leave the boat alone," Victoire admitted. A vision of the boat as she had found it – abandoned and sad, a mere ghost of the grand ship she had been - haunted her thoughts. "Look, I'm not likely going to uni so I'll have time to spend from here on out." No immediate answer came from inside. She rushed on, "I promise to be here every weekend until she's sailing, ok?"

Victoire heard a latch turn from inside and jerked away from the door, which creaked open to reveal five fairies. Matera emerged first, a proud smile on her face. Victoire stood and moved back to let them pass. Terra and Flora emerged next, but hung back; their faces reserved. Viva zipped past and executed quick excited circles around Victoire's head. Only Faun remained deep in the interior of the room. Her arms crossed, and her gaze was still heated.

Best give Faun a wide berth for a while Victoire decided. She was glad to have made progress with something today even if it required grovelling and concession. Wearily, she allowed herself to be led around the ship as the fairies gave their thoughts on what should be done next.

_Today was getting to be a very long first day of the rest of her life. _

Victoire herded her reluctant siblings and cousins toward the shore, promising longer days to come when she wasn't so knackered. From a distance, she noticed someone moving lithely down the docks, loaded with fishing gear and accompanied by a black lab. The docks primarily served the needs of muggle tourists interested in the area's offshore fishing. For the most part, Victoire's group stayed to their protected slip, and as far as their muggle neighbours were concerned, they were just a gang of regular kids spending the day on the water.

The angler turned toward the wind using the gusts to blow the hair out of their eyes. The reprieve didn't last long, though, as another gust attacked from the opposite direction. On the docks, it paid to have hair either too short to blow in your eyes or long enough to secure in a ponytail. This fisherman had the kind of longish short hair that proved a bit unmanageable. They put the tackle down to pull a cap out from their back pocket. They raked back the curly brown hair with one hand and pulled the cap on with the other, effectively securing their vision. Victoire supposed that was a decent compromise.

The fisherman turned with a smile at their approach and told the dog to sit. Victoire realized it wasn't a bloke, as she assumed from a distance, but a young woman about her age. The dog obeyed the request, wagging his tail at an amicable pace.

"What's his name?" Al held his hand out for the dog to sniff. The sniff led to a marked increase in the velocity of the tail wagging. He seemed to be a friendly dog, which was good because he sure was a large dog.

"Diogy," the woman drawled.

"Is that French for 'dog'?" Lily asked, approaching the dog for a pet with hesitant caution.

The woman laughed. "No, that actually is 'dog'. D-O-G. Diogy."

"The French word for dog is actually 'chien'," Louis commented to no one in particular.

"You're not very original with the names, then?" Al looked at the woman.

She shrugged. "He was a stray when he found me. I didn't know if he'd stick so I just called him 'dog'. After a few months and it lookin' like he was content as we were, I kind of felt bad not having a real name to call him so I sort of morphed 'dog' into Diogy. He answers to it so it all worked out. What's your name?"

"Al."

"Albus Severus," Lily supplied in a singsong voice knowing good and well she'd provoke her brother. Sure enough, he shot her an irritated glance.

"Just Al," he reiterated.

"Nice to meet you, Al, sounds like your folks were very original."

"Nah, we're all named for dead people. I wouldn't call that original," Al stated, rather matter of fact.

"Hey, I'm not all dead," Lily interjected.

"Ok." The woman on the dock seemed as if she were trying to decide if she could laugh or not.

Lily continued helpfully, "I'm Lily. Lily Luna. This is my other brother James Sirius and our cousins - Louis, Dominique, and Victoire. They're not named for anybody, just French."

"I'm Micah. And that is original," she leaned down toward Lily and continued in a conspiratorial whisper, "I made it up right now."

"You did not!" Lily exclaimed. "You can't just make up your own name."

"Are you sure?" Micah baited. "What's a name if not just what everybody calls you?"

"Is that what everyone calls you?"

"It's what I find myself answerin' to so might as well stick with it, don't you think?" Micah nodded and then winked at Lily before straightening up and addressing everyone else. "Nice to meet y'all. Here for fishing?"

"No, we're hanging out at the boat." Louis nodded to the slip where the boat rested. Victoire tensed. They had a disillusionment charm on the boat for the muggles around the pier, and she didn't want to have to explain why there appeared to be no boat where the boy indicated.

"Ah, big blue?" Micah said, turning to face the slip where the boat rested. "Bit of a fixer upper- "

"Should have seen it when they hauled it in here," James snorted to Louis.

"- but real nice bones on that one." Micah nodded and turned back. "She's going to be a stunner when you're through with her. I can tell."

"You're a witch?" Victoire asked, somewhat surprised.

"That I am."

"Do you have a boat here?" Lily asked.

"No, I help out on some of the fishin' charters. They book 'em and I use their boats to take 'em out," Micah replied in a smooth accent Victoire couldn't quite place. "Money for school." She scratched behind Diogy's ear. "And kibbles."

"What school?" Al asked.

"Folks call it Bimas." She cocked her head and innocently surveyed the group. "Y'all ever heard of it?"

Victoire had the sudden urge to impale herself on a stump.


	7. Where Do You Sweep Things Without a Rug

**Where Do You Sweep Things If You Haven't Got a Rug?**

* * *

Vic,

I'm sorry sweetie, but you need to find a way to deal with it. You can …

**1** Actually talk to him.  
or  
**2** Wait and let it explode out of you at some completely inappropriate moment – maybe accompanied by feathers.

You know which option I advise.

I feel bad this is so short. Training is really kicking my arse. Hopefully, things lighten up in the next few weeks.

By the way, don't think I didn't notice the stunning lack of Bimas updates in your correspondence.

Abraços, (Hugs)  
Sara

P.S. How did Grant look?

* * *

-

* * *

Sara,

There are no updates. The final deadline for the chosen ones has passed. Mum is unwavering in her optimism. I can tell she is personally invested because the pep talks are coming out in her own little language. Louis has taken to calling it Frenglish.

I have to believe I would have heard by now if they were considering me for any open slots.

I did need to confess my lack of acceptance to McGonagall at our session today. That was fun. She was telling me that she had written the university's head of transfiguration to let them know about the one-on-one work we have been doing. By the way, she was NOT amused when I slipped and called it 'control rehab'. Get this - she wrote them to suggest that they place me out of the entry-level transfiguration class and directly into a more advanced one.

You have to appreciate the irony - placing out of a class in the school to which I haven't been accepted in the first place. You should have heard her tutting at that news when I broke it. I do feel bad. I know she took me on as project because she adores my father, but still, she did invest a lot of effort into the sessions. I think she assumed I would put them to better use, like going on and doing something in transfiguration, while I'm quite content leaving it at not spontaneously combusting into feathers at every emotion.

Talk to him? How do you talk to someone when you never see or hear from them. It's not like I'm hard to find. Shop – Boat – Home. I've seen more of his friend Owen then him. Believe it or not we're tracing a wand's ancestry. Teddy was supposed to be helping, but apparently his time is not his own. His girlfriend has a very packed social schedule. She works for her father's charitable foundation. I think that translates: occupation = professional party girl.

Time for us working girls to go to bed.

Love,  
V

P.S. Grant looked awful. Go find yourself a Brazilian hottie.

* * *

-

* * *

Sara,

I am sitting in the tiniest reception area possible in the hallowed halls of the British Institute of Magical Arts and Studies as we speak. Are you happy?

After standing for an hour, I finally snagged a seat on the only bench in sight. Right next to a lovely goblin who is currently eyeing me as if she expects that I'm going to snatch the mangy piece of fungus she carried along for a snack.

Did I mention I'm wearing heels? Yes, you heard right – my mother dressed me this morning. I honestly think she considered escorting me down here.

Oh, the horror.

-- Gotta Go --

* * *

Vic,

Great news!

I'm assisting in a procedure this week. Of course that's in addition to my regular duties, but its hands on, baby, and I was handpicked for it.

Who needs sleep?

McGonagall's finally back, then. Did you find out what prompted the sudden trip?

Beijos, (Kisses)  
Sara

P.S. You lie – Grant could never look bad.

* * *

NICE!

Your latest owl arrived at this very moment in the middle of the waiting room. Now EVERYONE is looking at me.

I suppose I'll have to forgive you because you're brilliant. Congratulations!

I'm not exactly sure what a procedure entails, but have no fear, you'll do it all and still sleep. Of course, the hotties may have to wait … unless there is one involved in the same procedure. In that case, you have always been good at multitasking.

- I'm back. Did you miss me? -

I would have been back sooner (not that you could tell) but I misplaced the quill I started this letter with and had to throw myself on the mercy of Dominique for a spare. SO unfair she got the together gene and I got the flight-y gene.

I had my evaluation interview with McGonagall's crony – an old student of hers. Very convenient that I would get her for my evaluation. She even mentioned that department heads don't generally do them. I suspect dear Minerva wrote another letter.

Her sudden trip was to a funeral in the States for some old Order friend. Must be tough having all your friends getting up there.

Love,  
V

P.S. It's for your own good, trust me.  
Imaginary long distance relationships never last.  
Go find someone on your own continent.

* * *

-

* * *

Vic,

It's a magical institution. It wasn't the owl that made them look .

And, on the subject of birds, you really need to stop with the fowl puns.

Abraos e Beijos,  
Sara

P.S. Imaginary relationships last as long as you want them to – that's the beauty.

* * *

-

* * *

Sara!!!!!!!!

Good news – I'm in.

Bad news – I might be homeless.

No Muggle Immersion House, that is. There is no place for me in any of the qualified houses, yet I'm required to be in one this year unless I can dig up a non-magical relative in my household to assert that I have prior knowledge of living like they do.

I have no such relatives. I'm throwing myself on the mercy of student affairs tomorrow.

It's me, by the way,  
V – Victoire - BIMAS student

* * *

.

"Shouldn't we be going to Student Affairs? I'm not sure what the Facilities Superintendent is going to be able to do…" Victoire hesitated before walking out of the thicket of trees near the Bimas campus.

"We aren't seeing the Superintendent, we are visiting his secretary," Micah corrected her, striding toward a gated stone archway that served as the perimeter of a wildlife refuge. Their conversation ceased while they queued up for the turnstile gate marking passage into the park. They stepped out of the turnstile onto the academic campus.

Now free of the park visitors, Victoire continued their conversation where they left off, "Why?"

Micah tossed her head back over her shoulder and winked. "Because secretaries rule the world, and I already know this one pretty well."

"That's not an answer," Victoire pointed out unable to keep the faint note of tetchiness from her voice. She knew it was uncalled for, but she hated feeling like somebody's project. To be fair, Micah had asked Victoire to show her Diagon Alley and only instigated this detour after Victoire confessed her current predicament with housing at school. Micah had been thrilled to hear that Victoire was going to be starting Bimas with her and extended the offer to help based on her own experience in getting her schedule and housing situated.

"Of course it is."

Victoire pulled her sunglasses down and peered at Micah over their rims.

Micah sighed, "She helped me smooth over some glitches in my transfer in a fraction of the time it would have taken to go through recommended channels."

"Why don't you give me your spot?" Victoire suggested with a wide grin. "You work with muggles, surely you qualify for a program exception."

"No, my family is completely magical, and it's not like I can go to my employer, fess up that I'm differently abled, and politely request a note for the elf in admissions." Micah opened the thick mahogany door and motioned Victoire inside before she continued in a hushed tone, "Not to mention, immersion houses are subsidized by the university so the rent is a fraction of what you pay for an apart- sorry - flat in this area. More importantly, they encourage dogs as an enhancement to the muggle experience. Do you know how few places accept dogs?" She stopped in front of a pair of double glass doors. "Here we are. Let me do the talking."

Victoire hung back as Micah greeted a middle aged witch whose hair was a riot of ringlets and whose robes were far too tight to be comfortable. They chatted for a short while before Micah steered the conversation to the subject of housing, casually mentioning Victoire's predicament. "She is on her way to Student Affairs to see what they can do," Micah finished with a sympathetic look at Victoire.

"Oh, no, no, no," the woman responded with a vigorous shake of her head, propelling the tight ringlets into motion. "You'll waste your day there. They can't help you this year, we have a larger than normal pool of immersion house students. We use the house you're in as a last resort. The demand has been unprecedented."

"That's why I suggested stopping here first. I was hoping you could help us get in touch with Andy from my house. I'm sure he mentioned a room he was trying to get into the program, but it was not yet approved…?"

"It's an attic room; it's not quite up to standard size requirements," the woman frowned.

"Andy doesn't seem like someone who would offer a room that was going to be unworkable…" Micah encouraged.

"Such a charming boy and so good with his hands." The older woman seemed to drift off for a second before she turned to the file cabinet beside her desk and summoned some paperwork. "It's a shame that he is," she lowered her voice and looked around before continuing, "…you know."

Victoire didn't know, and Micah let the comment pass without reply or expression.

"Here, dear. If you want the room, sign this lease and we will match the paperwork in due time." She handed Victoire a parchment. As Victoire looked it over, she could feel the older woman's eyes on her. She was about to thank her for the help when the woman spoke again, "I should tell you, a standard wardrobe won't fit in this room and the house wards prevent spells being cast within them, so there will be no way to expand one."

Victoire managed a smile, although she could feel the tightness of her lips as she did. She glanced down at her fitted French robes. The only reason she was wearing them today was that she often changed at the boat after work and habitually failed to bring her regular robes home for laundering. "I don't require a lot of room. I'm sure it will be fine." She grabbed a quill of the woman's desk, signed the parchment, and handed it back. "Thank you for the help."

"Of course, dear." The woman accepted the paper and conjured Victoire her copy. "You should be hearing from Andy about the arrangements."

They bid the woman goodbye and not another word was spoken between the girls until they had exited the building.

Micah chuckled once they were outside. "Old biddy. But, helpful."

"Is it really going to be ok? Seems kind of dodgy what we just did." Victoire looked at the copy of the paper in her hand and then at the building. She half expected someone to come out and call them back inside. "How did you find her?"

"She had the look," Micah replied.

Victoire threw her a sidelong glance. "More, please."

Micah laughed and slid her features seamlessly into a fair imitation of the older woman's demeanor right down to the air of importance she projected. "The 'I run this place but get no credit for it' look," she stated as if she had read the term in Witch Weekly rather than made it up on the spot. "Good people to know. They usually can be counted on to make things happen because they feel powerful when they do."

"And Andy?"

"Ha, I'm not going to comment on his hands, other than to say he manages the houses and does a lot of the carpentry and repairs himself. Don't worry," Micah assured as they approached the turnstile that would take them back to the gates of the reserve, "if he says the room is livable, I'm sure it is."

Victoire marveled at the breadth of Micah's acquaintances at the school, considering she had only moved to England at the beginning of the summer. "How well do you know him?"

"I met him two weeks ago when I asked him to show me the house. I wasn't going to sign a lease until I had actually seen what I was getting myself into."

Victoire looked at the parchment still clutched in her hand.

"So," Micah said as the reached the apparition point. "I need to find Gringotts first. All I have is muggle money."

Micah carried a large amount of money with her, and Victoire was surprised when she declined the offer to open an account for transactions. Victoire had three accounts at Gringotts: one fore savings, one for spending, and one for boat expenses. Her father had set them up for her, and as a result, she never even thought about handling money. She was paid directly to the accounts, and they just sorted themselves out without her intervention.

The amount of cash Micah carried turned out to be necessary. She needed everything, a new wand included. Victoire marveled at how decisively she worked her way through the stores picking out what she wanted. No debate, no second guessing. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Micah spent her last few knuts treating them both to ice cream before they headed back to the docks with some of the afternoon still ahead of them. Micah left to catch an afternoon charter, citing the need to replace the stash she had just dropped in Diagon Alley. Victoire headed back to the boat and relieved the house elf, who had been hired to watch the ever present gang of kids enjoying the boat's amenities for the summer.

Bill planned to grill on the deck of the boat that night for the first time, and everyone was ridiculously excited for it. It wasn't that Fleur was a bad cook. More that she was rather limited in scope of what she would cook. And, she never seemed to cook enough food. Ginny had even taken to sending a dish along with her kids when they visited for any length of time. As a 'thank you', she was always quick to explain.

When her parents arrived and the preparations began, Victoire walked out to invite Micah to dinner. She caught site of Harry approaching from the other direction. To her surprise, he veered off toward Micah as well. She reached them just as Micah was telling Harry it was too late to head out fishing that evening.

"I'm not here to fish," he replied looking at Diogy and back to Micah, "at least not today."

Micah's usually amicable smile widened suddenly with recognition, "Are you Albus' dad?"

"Yes-" Harry admitted.

"I should have seen that right off. You favor him."

"I favor him?" Harry repeated.

Micah nodded, "The eyes - dead giveaway." Micah hoisted her tackle box over her shoulder and grabbed her fishing rods. "You have a great kid there. Quite an angler. He even cleans his own fish." Micah caught site of Victoire then and addressed her, "Am I right? The other kids like to come out early to snag the baitfish, that's constant activity, but Al is the only one patient enough to wait for the big fish to come along."

Victoire nodded.

"Yeah." Harry smiled proudly. "I wanted to thank you for entertaining him this summer and for sending home the fish."

"Oh, that was all Al. He caught them," she held out the hand that wasn't holding the fishing rods, "I'm Micah, by the way. Its good to meet you Mr.-" she hesitated for a second.

"Harry."

"- Mr. Harry."

"No, just Harry."

"Good to meet you, Harry," Micah acknowledged. "I hope you like fish because Al caught quite a large one today as well."

"My father is actually about to grill that now. We were just going to eat if you want to join us," Victoire offered to Micah.

"Can I have a rain check? I pulled an early shift at the pub tonight, and I need to clean up before mingling with the general public."

"Rain check?" Victoire asked.

Harry came to Victoire's rescue, "Muggle saying. Means an offer for another time. Like if rain prevents you from doing something, you can come back on a sunny day instead." He looked at Micah. "You lot offer rain checks for fishing?"

Micah shook her head. "Not this crew. Rain is considered ambiance in these parts." She adjusted her load and whistled for the dog. "Y'all have a good meal now." With a wave, she strode off down the dock.

Harry was lost in thought as he and Victoire started back toward the boat.

"I like your friend," he finally said.

"Me too," Victoire agreed. Strictly speaking, she wouldn't say they were exactly friends, but she had, in fact, become quite friendly with Micah throughout the summer.

Harry gave Victoire a hand as she stepped onto the deck of the boat. "She may be the first person to actually identify me by one of my kids rather than the other way around."

Victoire contemplated that for a moment. Well used to the perspective of growing up a child of the Potter/Weasley clan, she had not really given much thought to the perspectives of the parents. "Micah's unique. Do you know she not only works on muggle fishing charters but also in a muggle pub?"

"Really? Harder work doing it the muggle way," Harry commented.

Victoire shrugged. "She claims wizards are rubbish tippers."

"Huh." Harry stood thoughtful for a moment. "So, what's considered a good tip?"

Victoire shook her head. "Not sure. I should probably ask her sometime."

They were greeted by Victoire's siblings and two of the three Potters, all lounged on the deck waiting for dinner.

"Where's James?" Harry asked the group.

"I'd check the stump," Al offered as he made his next move in the game they were playing.

"He's not good with fairies," Louis supplied with a slight shake of his head.

Victoire intended to see the room before the day the houses opened for move in. As it happened, the remaining weeks of summer dwindled quickly, and they were a few short days from the start of classes. Victoire's parents insisted that they move her the day the houses opened. She might have been insulted by their haste to pack her out of her childhood room, but she knew, in reality, they were shocked that a lease had been executed without so much as a pass by them. The inspection was at hand.

The process was amusing at first; especially seeing the reactions as the house wards automatically divested everyone of their wands upon entrance to the building. Her father actually went into a crouch stance ready to defend himself. Louis kept walking back and forth over the main threshold watching his wand fly into the protective cabinet and then appear back into his pocket as he stepped out the front door. He tried to catch it before it soared from his possession, but did not have a chance.

Dominique finally pulled Louis up the staircase when his antics became an obstruction. "Why do you even bother carrying a wand outside of school? It's not like you get to use it," she scolded.

Victoire attempted to count the number of stairs in the four flights that led to her room, but she always lost track somewhere around the third floor. In all honesty, she did not feel like she had that much stuff, but the muggle way of moving emphasized every last possession they carried.

The main floors were easy to navigate, the stairwells open and the landings spacious, but the fourth floor was tricky. The last flight to the attic was off to the side and switched back sharply behind the door marking its path. There was a turn half a flight up with a tall narrow window overlooking the roof of the next building. The window admitted some light casting a dim glow down the lower flight but no light past the turn. '

A landing the size of a telephone booth housed a second door which led directly into Victoire's room. Fortunately, the windows in the room itself were better. Originally constructed as a mini conservatory, the ceiling on one side of the attic room sloped to waist height with three windows, large enough to serve as access to the house roof, spaced along it. The natural light they provided made the small space seem bigger. Unfortunately, the illusion of space vanished steadily as they moved in Victoire's possessions.

Victoire guessed that her mother was the one missing her wand the most. Fleur's hands fidgeted constantly as she surveyed the room. Victoire could only imagine the numerous domestic spells she longed to perform to make the room more inviting. Her mother must have asked her a hundred times if she was really happy with the room.

With each subsequent inquiry, Victoire was more adamantly happy. It wasn't small, it was cozy. She scored a single when everyone else in the house had a roommate. Every other floor shared a bathroom and Victoire had one to herself for the first time in her life, so what did it matter that she couldn't even towel off in there without one foot in the tiny shower stall.

The only concession Victoire made to change the room was to ask her father's help in prying open the windows which had been sealed shut long ago. She could not bring Gidget's cage, as owls and other strictly magical pets were not allowed in the house, but she knew she would not be able to sleep if she did not at least have the window open.

Yes, everything was just fine until Louis, who had been hanging out on the third floor landing because the entire family could not occupy Victoire's space at the same time, bounded up with news. "Guess who's living just below you?"

"Micah," Dominique replied from the bathroom where she was folding towels. "We already knew that. She was the one who got Vic the room."

"No, haven't seen her yet." He waited a moment for a reply before bursting out, "It's Teddy!"

Fleur pivoted from where she was making the bed under the sloped ceiling of the room and regarded her daughter closely. Victoire met her glance and immediately squared her shoulders before replying, "Lovely."

Dominique's voice lilted out of the bathroom once again, "Awkward."

Louis, long oblivious to the female level of communication in his family, continued his report, "He's got a girlfriend. She's down there too."

Of course, she is. Right below. Oh, Merlin, how thin are these walls?

Fleur handed Louis a box by the door. "Please take this to the car."

Louis looked at the box, his brows wrinkling together slightly. "We just moved this stuff up here. Why are we moving it back?"

"Because it doesn't fit," the disembodied voice from the bathroom cut over Fleur's, "Because we 'ave decided that these things are unnecessary for this place and will be keeping them for your sister at 'ome."

Louis looked from his mother to the bathroom to Victoire before leaving without another word, box in hand.

Fleur beckoned Dominique out of the bathroom, "Go find out where your father has disappeared. I expect that he is wondering outside testing wards and apparition boundaries."

Dominique emerged from the bath reluctantly. "Why would he be doing that?"

"Your father likes to know where his children are and how closely he can get to them if they need him. It's the curse breaker in him. Now, go, please," Fleur instructed.

Dominique descended the stairs at the slowest possible rate. Even her light footfalls on each step echoed back up to the room confirming Victoire's initial fear that she might be able to hear far more of what was going on around her than she would ever want.

When Dominique finally cleared the stairwell, Victoire was trapped in the room with her mother. Fleur stepped closer and gently smoothed Victoire's hair. "You are sure you are happy with the room?"

For the first time since their arrival in the attic, the inquiry was neutral in tone. Fleur's eyes were not on the surroundings but on her daughter alone. Victoire experienced a fleeting desire to throw herself in her mother's arms and beg to be taken home. Quite uncharacteristically, she controlled the impulse and simply replied, "Yes, Mum. The room is fine," because that was how big girls dealt with things.

Her mother nodded and placed an affectionate kiss on Victoire's forehead. "You will make it so," her mother's voice rang with quiet conviction. Fleur walked back to the bed and returned to straightening the bedding. "Maybe a nice rug to soften the floor, dampen the echoes."

"Yes," Victoire nodded vaguely with her reply, "I believe I'll look for a rug."

Later that evening, Victoire found herself alone in the middle of her new room concerned that a rug was not going to do the trick. How had she arrived at this place in her life: attending an ultra competitive university, living in a house without the comfort or security of her wand, an ex living directly below her? Who was she kidding? What business did she have here?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs startled her. The room had darkened considerably while she brooded, and she scrambled for a light just as the knock sounded through the door. She opened it to find Micah at the landing and a blond Ravenclaw that she remembered from Hogwarts a few steps behind her.

"Evening, hun," Micah greeted her. "Do you remember Phineas here from your old school? He tells me he graduated a year ahead of you."

"Sure I do, good to see you." Victoire mustered a smile she did not feel. Phineas nodded at her greeting, his eyes fixed somewhere above her left eyebrow. She remembered him being tall, but he looked even more so framing Micah's petite form from behind; despite being a step or more below Micah, his head neared level with hers.

"Would you - umm - like to come in?"

"Love to," Micah responded as she entered, a wave of her hand encouraged her companion to join them in the room. "We came to see how you are settling in and, in all honesty, to make you a proposition. We were wondering if you would be willing to switch rooms with Phineas?"

"Really?" Victoire had intended to avoid facing any of the day's surprises by holing herself in her room. That plan was simply not going to work if surprises continued to charge up the stairs for her. "Why would you want to do that? You barely fit in here as a visitor." Victoire attempted another smile at Phineas who, apart from the initial nod, had yet to show any signs of life beyond blinking and, out of the dim stairwell where she could see it, blushing.

"Valid point," Micah answered for him, "but, here's the thing, the university is under the impression that I am a boy. It's the name, you see, Micah is short for Michael Morgan. That's how I'm registered. Of all the issues with my paperwork, I have to say this little scenario never crossed my mind." Her hands constantly moved as she talked, "Imagine my chagrin - I was concerned it would be my dog that would turn folks off - seems it's me that Fin here is not entirely comfortable with."

"No, there's nothing wrong with you…" Phineas finally spoke, "I just…" he looked from one forehead to the other, "cohabitation is against the house code."

"It's OK, Fin. I don't take offense," Micah soothed. She patted his arm lightly and increased the blush as she did.

Victoire's stare moved between the odd pair as she processed, finally resting on Micah. "Your name is Michael Morgan and the school has you sharing a room with a man?"

"Yes, that was the gist of the rather long speech I just gave." Micah smiled hopefully at her. "That and suggesting you come down with me, and we let Fin have the single. You and I would be sharing a bath with the two other guys on the floor, but you have a brother, right? It won't be that different."

Phineas cleared his throat and chanced a quick glance at Victoire's eyes before his gaze settled again above her eyebrows. "The suite is just below, and we would help move your stuff."

"Just below?" Victoire repented the words as soon as they escaped her lips; especially the alarmed tone she felt was unmistakable in her voice.

"Yes, third floor." Micah regarded her curiously.

"I can't," Victoire mumbled unable to look at either of them. She reeled at the image of Iska, clad only in one of Teddy's shirts, crossing her path on the way to the loo. She felt real physical pain at the mere thought and sank down on the end of the bed.

"It's ok, sugar," Micah cast Phineas a quick look and dropped to the bed beside Victoire. "I'm sorry I put you on the spot. I guess it was asking a lot."

Micah's sincerity cut through Victoire. Micah and Phineas had an actual problem and she- well, she should be over hers. It had been weeks. Hell, if she was completely honest, it had been years. She returned the blasted quill, didn't she? Why wasn't she over it? And, how was she expected to explain it all to them?

"No, its not … it's … it's," Victoire took a deep breath and exhaled the words in a rush, "it's Teddy. I can't. School together. Classes are big. I could do that." She shook her head slowly. "He's here." She vaguely pointed at the floor. "He's there. And she'll be there. And they are there."

Micah's eyes got big and she extended an arm over Victoire's slumped shoulders. Phineas looked baffled and more uncomfortable, if that were even possible. Micah looked up at him and simply stated, "She can't share a floor with Teddy."

Micah thought for a moment while she gently patted Victoire's shoulder. "Maybe Fin could go across the hall and Teddy could come up here?"

Victoire stiffened.

Merlin, yes, let's give him a single so they can put out without putting any else out. If sound traveled up so well, Victoire could only imagine how grand the acoustics could be from under the poorly insulated floor. There wasn't a rug big enough.

"Move the entire house?" Victoire's voice held a note of panic, "How am I going to explain that?" Her palms dampened.

"You won't need to explain anything," Micah assured. "Fin and I will work this out, right?" She queried the man hovered by the desk, but afforded no chance for reply as she pressed on, "I promise that I will be the best roommate ever. You already know about the dog and you seem more than OK with him. You won't even know I'm there. I know very few people on this continent so I won't be bringing anyone over. I have a strict policy that no dates come to where I live so you don't even need to think about that. What's more, if you have a girl, I will gladly bunk on a couch downstairs."

Seemed Phineas actually could look more uncomfortable. Micah, undeterred by his reaction, continued her campaign, "I can be quiet. I can adhere to whatever sleep schedule you want. I promise never to ask you to put the toilet seat down, always knock before entering, and absolutely no girly soaps or bath products. Give me a chance, PLEASE. One month, you'll see. I mean, it will take me at least that long to find another place."

"You'd move out?" A wave of guilt swept through Victoire. "Where would you go?"

Phineas came alive with a deep exhale. "I don't want to kick you out." He sat on the desk, eyebrows furrowed and one hand stroked his chin. After a moment of though, he began to talk aloud addressing the door across the room as if the girls were not right there with him. "There has to be a solution. Classes do not start until Monday. That gives us three days. We simply go to Student Affairs and explain the situation-"

Victoire snickered. It was a quick burst of noise that bordered on hysterical. The kind a laugh one feared would come out at a funeral. She clasped a hand over her mouth as a pregnant pause filled the room, and, then, Micah laughed a clear full bodied laugh of her own.

Micah took a breath and choked out, "The administration is what got us here in the first place."

"That and my utter disaster of a love life," Victoire admitted. She dropped her elbows to her knees and cradled her head in her palms. "I think I'm fine then all it takes is the mention of his name, and I'm back to square one. I haven't even seen him and I'm stressed out."

"How long were you together?" Micah's voice soothed from beside her.

"All my life," Victoire mumbled through a curtain of hair, her head still down. "Until he graduated two years ago. He was supposed to come back to me. He didn't. He came back with her." She squeezed her eyes shut tight. "He is happy. I want to be happy too. I can't seem to. My heart actually aches when I think about it."

"There is a reason that you are feeling like this." Victoire's head snapped up toward Phineas as he spoke, "The end of a long term relationship can trigger the release of stress hormones that actually can weaken your heart. Hence the common albeit not strictly clinical term 'Heart Break'." He addressed the door as a professor addressed a class. He gestured toward Victoire without looking at her or Micah. "Not only is your body releasing additional stress hormones but it is deprived of the stress relievers like oxytocin and vasopressin which are associated with the third level of human mating."

Wait, what?

"Hey, where do you get off speculating about our level of mating?"

"Easy killer," Micah interjected as she squeezed Victoire's shoulder gently, "he meant no harm there." She looked at Phineas who had turned back to the girls, startled by the outburst. "Are you for real? Oxytocin?"

"Yes," he ventured, "oxytocin, commonly referred to as the cuddle compound."

"I'm feeling miserable because of something called the cuddle compound?"

"No, because of the lack of it," he corrected.

"Well, isn't that helpful."

"It might be helpful," Micah interjected. "Fin, can you replace this cuddle compound and vaso-whats-it?"

"Vasopressin and, no, you can't replace it with a potion. Your body has to create it or it's not real," Phineas relaxed somewhat, more in his element amid the academic discussion.

"So, no anti-love potion for her, then?"

"No, that would not work." Phineas shook his head. "It would be subject to the same limitations as love potions. It may give you the illusion but it won't do anything to ultimately change your body's natural feelings. Potions like that don't have a lasting effect. They wear off and as soon as they do, you are right back to where you started without them." He shrugged. "A waste of cauldron time if you ask me, but people do it thinking that all they need is a boost."

Victoire moaned, "UGGH, what am I going to do?"

"Sounds like an addiction to me. There are steps for that," Micah said as she threw Victoire a hopeful smile.

"Are you expecting me to join a group?"

"Nothing that formal, but Fin and I can be your sponsors, if you like."

"Fin?" Phineas scrubbed his face. "And, how did we divert from the original issue?"

"We settled that." Micah now sounded like the professor. "We do not involve student affairs. You'll give me a month. We'll work it out downstairs, or I will find another house. In the mean time, we help Victoire overcome her Teddy addiction."


	8. Not Your Standard Muggle Event

**Chapter 8: Not Your Standard Muggle Event**

Music reverberated off the walls as Victoire unpacked her school supplies and books. Everything spread out on her desk and bed; she searched for nooks and crannies to stash a half-year's worth of materials. There was no room for bookshelves, so she knelt beside the bed and stacked her texts just underneath. As she arranged them with the spines visible, a shadow passed over her.

Straightening with a gasp, she found Iska in the room with her.

An incantation flew through Victoire's mind, but she had no wand with which to cast it. She flailed around briefly before she found the wireless and turned the volume down.

"I knocked, but you must not have heard," Iska stated with a warm smile. "I came up to ask if I could possibly use your loo? Boys and bathrooms can be such a nightmare," she punctuated the comment with a delicate shudder, "I don't know how that Micah will cope."

"Sure," was all that Victoire could reply. She pointed to the open door, but Iska did not approach it.

"Umm, the hot and cold taps are switched."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The tap labeled cold gives hot water. Hot, cold." Victoire shifted her weight from one foot to the other and moved her hand vaguely in that direction again.

Iska's tailored brows drew together slightly. "Is that customary for muggles?"

"No." _Of course not, how stupid would that be?_ Victoire wanted to amend but left the unkind thought unspoken and continued in the same even tone, "Andy said the sink plumbing was an extra credit project for some students a couple years back."

"Andy? Do you mean the squib they have maintaining the immersion houses?"

Victoire nodded, an unflattering image of a middle aged Iska sporting a head of tight ringlets rose unbidden in her mind. Any other time she might have giggled at the thought.

"So nice that they found a place for him," Iska surmised. She surveyed the room with a keen eye. "How are you liking the house?"

"Oh, just fine."

Iska laughed. "You don't need to lie to me - this house is awful." She walked to the window and looked out over the rooftop. "You know, we left the first day to find a better placement. Not even the chosen one himself could have gotten Theo into another house." She turned back to Victoire. "I suppose that's what we get for being so late to register. We hadn't paid that much attention to the arrangements. Not until we were informed that the program required Theo to actually be in the house for so many hours every week." She sighed and threw her shoulders back. "No matter, I will fix it up for him."

"I'm going to get a rug," Victoire said with a glance at the clock.

"That would improve things for you." Iska ran her hand along the edge of the desk. The light from the window played on her rings in a burst of sparkles. "I found the best shops while we were decorating my flat. Why don't you and I go on a shopping trip together?" She beamed confidently. "Get you the perfect rug."

Victoire almost mentioned that she had lived in the area all her life and was certainly not in need of a tour guide. If she had no intention of shopping with her mother, she certainly had no intention of shopping with Iska. Maybe those two should go together. Iska was certainly the poised and perfectly presented young woman her mother no doubt hoped Victoire would have turned out to be.

Iska probably had closets full of shoes.

"I'd love to get to know you better," Iska was talking again. "I wanted to apologize for letting the summer get by us. We haven't had a chance to talk… you know ... just us." Her coquettish laugh was wasted on Victoire's ears. "I tend to get so distracted by Theo when he is around."

"Sure," Victoire granted, more sure that it would never happen. After all, Iska had made the same offer at their introduction, and it meant no more than false courtesy. Victoire could repay that. She had already resigned herself to the reality that she and Teddy did not need to be friends simply because they attended school together. She certainly wasn't going to seek out Iska's company, no matter who thought she was accomplished and lovely.

"Excellent," Iska cooed, "I'll give you my contact information and we will get something scheduled." She looked at the worn wooden floor. "Sooner the better, I think. I'll just get you my calling card so we can work out …. oh, bother, I can't, can I?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure how living like a muggle makes one a better witch. I suppose I will have to borrow a quill, then?"

"There was one on the desk earlier," Victoire advised as Iska scanned the desktop and opened desk drawers in search of one. She knew Iska would not find any writing instruments in there. Sleepwear and socks, yes, but quills and ink? Not in Victoire's desk.

"I bought some new ones for class, they must still be in the bag…" Victoire snuck another glance at the clock as she pawed through the mess of purchases sprawled on her bed and then through her purse. Nothing. Where were her quills? Buying extra was hardly helpful when she couldn't put her hands on them in the first place.

Empty handed, Victoire turned back just as Iska finished her search of the drawers. The other woman's expression clouded for a moment, no doubt frustrated by Victoire's inability to produce even the most basic of items in the mess. The look disappeared quickly, however, as Iska offered an indulgent smile. "Unpacking is such a bother, it took me weeks to get everything the way I wanted it in my flat. And, I could use magic!" She waved a delicate hand in the air and another intricate pattern of light and color danced across the plain walls of the room. "We'll sort it out."

She glided to the door, her perfume all too familiar to Victoire even in their short acquaintance. She turned at the top of the stairs, her contemplative gaze traveled over Victoire. "You really are quite beautiful." Her glance hesitated over Victoire's disheveled attire. "Without even trying." She cocked her head and looked Victoire in the eyes. "I bet there are lots of girls out there who are quite nasty to you for it."

Victoire had no idea how to respond. Iska's statement wasn't so much a compliment as an assessment, and her conclusion was on the mark, delivered with empathy rather than judgment. "None that matter," was the reply she managed.

Iska tossed her head in approval. "That's the attitude! Why pay for their insecurities?" She grasped one of Victoire's slack hands in a firm grip between both of hers. "I think we are going to get along quite well." She beamed and turned down the stairs. "Theo will be so pleased," she called over her shoulder as she descended.

Victoire took a deep breath. She had not realized how stifling the air in the tiny room was until it filled with the cloying scent of another woman. She waited motionless until the door at the bottom of the stairs closed, before she stepped down to the turn in the confined stairway and pried open the lock on the narrow window overlooking the neighboring roof. It was reluctant. However, Victoire had some energy to burn so, ultimately, she won. The window gave way, opened out with a crack of wood, but with no damage to the glass. She leaned over the sill and took another deep breath. The breeze was too warm to be refreshing, but it displaced the staleness as is moved its way up and out through the open window of her room. At least it was circulation.

Victoire contemplated the sky above. Maybe, she needed to take a quick flight to refresh herself before she completed her unpacking. With no desire to venture down to the floor below, she examined the alleyway beyond the window. The space between the buildings was almost nonexistent, the small fire escape perched under the window almost bridged the gap.

She stepped over the sill, only needing to duck slightly to ease onto the escape. Without warning, she felt something brush her side. She instinctively reached for her wand and … it was her wand. In her hand. Both of her wands were back in her possession. They had appeared in her pocket as soon as she stepped out of the window.

That was handy. She didn't need a wand to change form, but she learned the hard way not to go running around - or flying - without one. She had expected to have to crawl down the ladder and approach the front door before her wand would be released from the protective cabinet governed by the house wards. The knowledge that her wand was a mere six steps away was liberating. She could easily sneak out without running into … anyone.

She reached one arm back inside the window with the extra wand. No sense having two with her and if anyone checked out the wand cabinet, it would have a wand labeled with her name as if she were in. She tucked her fairy wand away and focused her energy. When she willed it, the change was slow enough to allow her the experience of each stage in the transformation. First, the astringent sensation invaded her mouth. Second, body temperature and heart rate spiked as rapidly warming blood coursed though her veins. Third, sight and hearing dulled in turn, eyes clouding and ears ringing, before each sense sharpened with clarity beyond her human form. Finally, the lift of near weightlessness gave rise to flight.

She loved to fly. It was a freedom like no other. She both craved and feared the relative invisibility her animagus form offered her. She soared over the area, taking in the layout of her new neighborhood, and congratulated herself for having dispelled the tension inside her. The campus was close, hidden in a vast wooded refuge on the outskirts of the city. Time held no hold over her in this state and she was content to let it pass without thought. Only instinct.

Upon her return, she touched down on the roof of the adjacent house. A brick façade had been constructed to make up for the half story height difference between it and its neighbors. The facade created almost a courtyard; barren but private. Perfect for Victoire to shift back before she hopped over to the fire escape and reentered the attic stairway.

She left the window open, feeling that it dissipated the heat that rose to the attic.

A noise from the third floor landing brought her up short. She froze and listened until she made out the voice. It was Micah on the other side of the door, but who was she talking to?

"-make nice or we will be sleeping on the docks tonight."

The only answer was a soft woof and a thud at the door. Victoire crept up the stairs as noiselessly as possible in hopes that she would not be discovered.

The cross breeze from the open windows had rustled a few papers from the desktop and Victoire scooped them up on her way back into the room. She slid them under her potions scale to hold them down, and shook her head. She really needed to finish unpacking - her quills were right on the desk and Iska couldn't even see them in the mess.

An hour later, Victoire had finished. Everything had been stashed in its own crevice or corner so the room looked tidy. The true test would be if she actually remembered where everything was when she needed it. She gave herself odds that five percent of the items she had stowed that afternoon would not see the light of day again until she packed up at the end of the year. _Maybe … if she made a list of where everything was located while it was still fresh in her mind... Ha, wouldn't Sara be proud at that? _

"Victoire!" The door at the bottom of the stairwell opened. "House meeting started 5 minutes ago, are you coming?" Micah's voice lifted up.

Bugger, she forgot about that. Tried hard to forget about that. Hopefully it wouldn't go too long, she was due to meet Owen to check out another name on the wand list. She ran down the stairs behind Micah, gave Andy an apologetic smile as they entered the front room where everyone had gathered, and managed a lame, "Sorry."

She knew immediately, almost instinctively, where Teddy was in the room. He had a presence most would agree was difficult to ignore, but for Victoire, it was absolutely impossible. Her late arrival earned her a knowing smile from him as he looked over the shoulder of a trim man in dreadlocks who was speaking animatedly to the group gathered in chairs on the far side of the room. She felt a sharp stab of irritation at his smugness.

Micah pulled her over to where Fin sat on a couch. Victoire nearly tripped over Diogy, who was lying on the floor blocking the remainder of the couch, as Micah pushed her down by Fin and sat on the other end. Victoire was left with her feet resting on the dog's back. Diogy didn't seem to mind as his tail wagged with quiet thuds against the floor. Fin looked up with a quick nod then focused back on Andy. A slight tinge crawled up Fin's cheeks, and he kept readjusting his hands as everyone quieted down for the meeting.

Victoire took a quick survey of the room and was relieved to see that Teddy could not have been farther away from her. In avoiding his eyes, Victoire encountered a narrowed look from a girl on a folding chair on the same side of the room. _Punctuality freak_, Victoire thought.

"Are you comfy, princess?" This from another girl on a folding chair who sat beside the scowling girl.

Already irritated, Victoire bristled at the girl's tone. "I apologized for being late, I didn't ask anyone to wait for me," Victoire actually spoke to both girls who, as she took a closer look, appeared rather like book ends in their chairs. One was blonde and the other brunette, but apart from their hair color, they looked the same - hairstyle, dress, even the way they sat. Victoire found that more annoying than their glares.

"You asked someone to save your seat," blonde bookend looked pointedly at the three on the couch.

Fin shot Micah a quick glance, but Micah remained unperturbed as she smiled politely at the bookends. "Oh, she didn't ask."

Andy cleared his throat and started introductions for the housemates before anything else could be said. There were four women in two suites on the second floor including the bookends, cousins from Beauxbaton. Teddy's roommate, the dreadlocked Armond, was the fourth person in the third floor suites and Victoire was odd man out in the attic.

Andy proceeded with a short orientation recited by rote. "- Immersion living is not that complex and certainly doable. Muggles live their entire lives without magic and cope just fine. You will too."

"Stop looking," Micah whispered without taking her eyes off Andy.

Victoire had not realize she had drifted, and immediately looked down still perturbed that Teddy seemed to think sending _his girl_ up to make nice after completely ignoring her was going to make things all better. She rubbed restless feet back and forth over Diogy who responded with increased tail thumping.

Andy began to field questions from several house members. "…Yes, any potions you require will work in the house, and, yes, you are welcome to bring personal photos. They will still move. Objects retain their enchantment even within the wards… No, you will not be able to cast a spell even if you are capable of wandless incantation. The wards will prevent that…"

Victoire felt eyes on her, and looked up ready to challenge the glares of the bookends who were creepier now that she knew their names were Pauline and Paulette. Instead, she found herself trapped in Teddy's inquisitive gaze until Micah snapped her fingers on the cushion between them. Diogy hopped up, dislodged Victoire's legs with the motion, and shook before he stretched and assumed a sitting position between them with his head propped on Micah's knee. Micah proceeded to scratch behind the dog's ears.

Most of the room startled at the disturbance, but Andy barely missed a beat. "…post a schedule for chores and cooking responsibilities. All house supplies will be purchased at muggle establishments, and you will have a budget to manage for those expenditures. Your house will start a week later than normal as I will need to be on hand to orient you on the appliances."

"So, we're last?" brunette bookend, Paulette, asked with an irritated glance at her cousin.

Blonde bookend, Pauline, snipped back, "You're that anxious to start chores?"

"I'd like to start with everybody else, not be treated like an afterthought." Paulette surveyed her housemates mentally handicapping her chances of overcoming a late start with such a group. "Every other house is going to be ahead of us."

"Don't worry," Andy interrupted the family squabble, "consider it a bonus week to settle in without obligation or responsibilities."

Neither girl looked appeased. The audacity with which they dismissed Andy's suggestion with a mirrored toss of their hair, each then glaring in the opposite direction of their cousin, had Victoire glaring at them and marveling at how Andy remained so stoic.

"A week does not make a difference with chores. They get to be routine quickly." With that said, Andy spoke more pronounced to the group as a whole with a firm resolve. "This is an enrichment program not a competition - extra credit, pass/fail. I will not let anyone fail." The bookends remained in frosty silence while Andy moved on to pass out phones for each house member. "Tonight we start with communication." And, thus, began an hour-long session on how to use the gadgets.

Fin dutifully consulted his manual as Micah, who wasn't the least bit intimidated by the things, demonstrated the functions faster than he could read them aloud. A few people drifted to their group on the couch where Micah made introductions for her dog as well as Victoire until Andy thanked them for their time and the meeting broke up.

Victoire stalled on the bottom of the stairs as voices drifted down from the landing above.

"- would have gotten us into a respectable house but, NO, your mom picks this summer to fight with Aunt Elise. Just like that, we're in the reject house." The harsh whisper could have come from either of the bookends; hard to tell as they were moving out of direct vision into their suite.

"Avoiding or eavesdropping?" Teddy appeared next to Victoire.

"Heading upstairs." She made a purposeful start up, only to have her arm caught with a surprisingly firm hand.

"Stay. Talk to me." His grip slipped down her arm to give her hand a squeeze. "You can't avoid _me_," Teddy said through a lopsided grin.

_Actually, you made it rather easy to do just that._

She slipped her hand from his loose grasp to tuck some hair behind her ear. Teddy's hand dropped to his side and his grin dropped with it, replaced with puzzled concern.

"I don't have time for a talk now." She glanced back up the stairs as she spoke, "I promised Owen I would help him tonight. Sorry." She made to move again.

"Come on." He pulled her off the stairs and over to the side of the hallway leading down to the kitchen. "Are you mad at me?"

Teddy searched her face waiting for an answer.

"This is about your quill." The statement had the air of being unintentional; made without full knowledge of where he was going with it when he started because he left the words drop between them.

Victoire stood impassive, not the least bit interested in picking them up.

"Why did you send that owl?" He folded his arms across his chest and waited. She did not remember him being so intimidating, not even when he was angry. The solidity and quiet intensity in his bearing cut through her quicker than any harsh words or aggressive gestures ever could.

She steeled herself against it. "To give you the quill back. Was that not clear?"

"I carried that quill half way around the world for you, you little brat," his tone was not angry, rather it was indulgent and amused. As if she was a child he was scolding.

The very thought incensed her; to imply that she was being juvenile, that she was playing for attention. "Maybe you should have given it to Owen. He obviously wanted it."

"It wasn't for Owen, and this isn't about him."

"Well, maybe it should be. I told you he was expecting me now. When's the last time you saw him? Do you even have a clue how his search is going?" She exhaled her frustration with an annoyed little huff before challenging him with a glare. "If anyone understood the importance it should be you, but you couldn't be bothered."

She immediately repented her words. If she thought the release of letting him have it would be gratifying, she was wrong. The flash of emotion evident in his eyes, before the first sign of anger he had shown in the entire exchange replaced it, left her feeling hollow.

She could not, however, find it in herself to back down.

He stepped out of her path, voice flat, "I'm sorry I kept you."

She fled up the stairs. Leaning against her door as she closed it, she coached herself to breath. The swirling ball of turmoil in her belly was a red flag she could not ignore. It served to remind her how far she had come and how easily she could loose the ground the healers and McGonagall had helped her gain if she dared let it overtake her.

She couldn't go anywhere now. She didn't trust herself. She would have to put Owen off until tomorrow.

* * *

Owen moved with reflexes that belied his usual casual demeanor. One second Victoire was frozen, eyes wide, an ugly vase being waved threateningly in her direction and the next she was in a small room with a desk and a fireplace. The crack of their arrival and the low, institutional hum of overhead lighting replaced the accusations and angry rebuttals of the room that they had vacated. Without Owen's grasp, Victoire might have keeled over as she had not expected the sudden apparition and was alarmingly nauseous from it.

Owen let out a low whistle as he righted her. "Holy mid life crisis."

"I can't believe she came after us that way," Victoire said in a daze as she looked up at Owen. "We weren't implying that her husband was up to something. We were simply inquiring about his wand."

Owen cocked his head to the side and smirked. "I can see it. You walk in on someone fondling your husband's wood - it's personal."

Victoire glared at him, scandalized. "You asked me to verify it!"

"Relax, love, the problems in that household existed long before our involvement," Owen asserted as if being caught in the middle of a domestic dispute was a normal occurrence for him. He approached the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a plain brown bottle that he uncorked and handed to Victoire. "Here. To settle your stomach."

Victoire took the bottle and wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the pungent odor of fermentation. She handed it back. "Thanks, I'm fine now."

Owen shrugged and took a swig himself before he corked it back up and slid it into the drawer. "Did you have it long enough to tell?"

"Yes, the core was dragon heartstring. He's not the one."

Owen took a seat, leaned back in the chair, and threw his feet on top of the desk. "Can't say I'm disappointed this time. Imagine spending bloody holidays with those two."

"Bloody would probably describe it," Victoire finally relaxed somewhat. She looked at Owen. "We are really not good at this, are we?"

He looked up from his reclined position at the desk. "What? We eliminated all but 3 possibilities, and today was the first significant threat of violence."

"You've had to physically stick your foot in at least 2 doors to stop them from being shut in our face. You may not consider that violence, but it can't have felt good."

"Didn't feel at all." Owen pointed to his boots on the desk. "Hand crafted by some bad ass aboriginal wizards. I could walk across molten lava and not feel it."

"When did people get so touchy about their wands?" Victoire perched on the corner of the desk. "At school, everybody talked about what wand they had and how they got it. It was no big secret."

Owen carelessly rifled through some papers on the desk as he spoke, "Wands are new when you are a kid. You want to show off. Takes years to get paranoid about that stuff."

"Where are we?" Victoire finally inquired.

"My office."

Victoire snickered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I can have an office."

"As apparently you do." Victoire gestured around. "What do you do in your office?"

He looked affronted but answered, "Put out fires, keep the Ministry appeased, and mostly stop the wizard guests from freaking out the muggle guests. Beyond that, whatever Dorothy can nag me into." Owen waved a bullet pointed list from the top of the pile of papers before he let it drop back on the desk in a flutter.

"Dorothy your boss?"

"Dorothy my assistant."

"Well, sure. You need an assistant. Who else you going to chase around the desk?"

His eyes narrowed, but the effect was lost in the gleam that was still visible and the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. "There's no chasing. Uncle Joe has a firm belief that eligible assistants are bad for business. He handpicked Dorothy: competent, well organized, unfailingly persistent, and plain as a brown paper bag. Her idea of a good time is alphabetizing."

"Can't wait to meet her."

"Stick around. She's hovering somewhere." Owen glanced at the door and Victoire actually expected it to open on cue. When it didn't, he continued, "Doesn't matter how many silencing charms I place on these walls she always seems to know when I'm in." His features held the air of begrudging respect as he nodded slowly. "Crafty little muggle, she is."

"I should probably let you get to work, then." Victoire stood and walked to the fireplace with an eye out for the powder container that would confirm its connectivity to the floo network. She didn't want to think about apparition anytime soon. "I have to find a rug without really looking."

"Is that a riddle? I hate those."

She laughed as she picked up a muggle photograph from the mantle and admired the smiling black haired woman with grey eyes pictured. "No, I want a rug, and it seems everyone else wants to be a part of it. _Make it a thing_." She placed the frame back and turned from her survey of the mantle. "I have no interest in_ a thing_. I just want a rug."

"We've got rugs. Twenty of them on fifth floor waiting to be replaced. You want one of those?"

"Really?

Owen escorted her to a floor undergoing massive redecorating. A wave of his wand sent several cylinder shaped packages against the wall springing into motion. Soon the length of the corridor was paved with rugs that had unwound themselves enough the stretch its width.

Victoire didn't hesitate to kick off her shoes and pad down through the varied patterns, making her way down the hall and back to the first, which was, without question, the most vibrant rug. Her toes dug into the thick pile. "They don't look worn out. Why the need to replace?"

Owen had remained leaned against the door frame of the stairwell they had come up. "Decorator bullshit. Something about post war being bright color, end of the darkness, whatever. New thing is understated. Back to darkness, I guess, I zoned out somewhere in there." He looked around at the neatly packed furniture. "Everything here doesn't match the new vision so it's scheduled to be shipped out to a muggle agency that disperses it to shelters and stuff."

"Oh, I can't take a rug away from a shelter," Victoire insisted. Her toes halted and she stepped off of the rug quickly.

Owen chuckled, pushed himself off the door and stepped up to her. "I heard about your room. The shelters are likely better furnished. They can spare one rug out of twenty."

She playfully flicked his ear but felt a flash of irritation course through her, not so much at the comment but at the thought that the report on her room could only have come from one source. She opted not to dwell on whether that source was direct or indirect; whether it proved her wrong or on the mark enough to prompt action.

She considered Owen's offer as she retrieved her shoes. Her alternative required shopping for a new rug, which, in itself, required a plausible excuse to exclude her mum or Iska from the event without seeming like a complete bitch.

"You know what, I will take your offer, but I need you to give me the name of the agency so I can make a donation to ease my conscience."

Owen shrugged. "I'll have them send this one?"

Victoire nodded with a huge smile as she surveyed her rug. The colors were loud and the pattern a bit busy for such a small room, but she liked that about it.

She reached out to give Owen an enthusiastic hug as he held the door for her. "You saved my day, possibly my life."

He returned her hug and gave her a wry grin. "Careful, wouldn't want to make this into a thing."

* * *

Victoire flooed home to let her mother know how she had so serendipitously came into ownership of a rug. She was in a brilliant mood as she recounted her story. Her parents listened to her ramble on, Bill squeezing Fleur's shoulders every so often, and then she stayed for dinner before heading back to the immersion house for what was to be the last night before classes.

Victoire was feeling so good she even chanced another apparition that day to get her back to the campus. Instead of heading straight to the immersion house, she diverted to the reserve and shifted to take a quick flight around the woods surrounding the campus.

She touched down on the neighboring roof, shifted back, and entered the house through the window in the attic stairwell. Tonight she would stay there for the first time. To sleep in her own room - by herself. She wasn't really alone. There were more people in the immersion house than Shell Cottage, but it was different. It was her lease and, therefore, her place.

She heard a series of large thuds below and hesitated, contemplating whether she should investigate. On the one had, she believed keeping a low profile on the third floor was her most prudent course of action. On the other, curiosity always trumped prudence, at least where Victoire was concerned.

She tiptoed down the stairwell, opened the door a crack and peeked out. Fin and Micah were in the stairwell with a few pieces of furniture. They appeared to be debating which to move back into the room first.

"We might get this done in time for me to grab a real meal before my shift begins," Micah commented as they each grabbed one side of a desk and headed into the room with it, her voice drifted out to the landing, "It's always a bonus having time to chew. So, what's the scoop on your meeting tonight? What does a teaching assistant do here at Bimas?"

Diogy caught site of Victoire and his interest drew Micah's who poked her head back out the door to check on the dog.

"Where'd you come from?" she asked.

Victoire stepped out of the stairwell slightly, gestured back over her shoulders, and said, in what she hoped was not a conspicuously quiet voice, "Up."

"Don't worry. He and Armond went down to the kitchen, and, it appears to me, he's avoiding you now, too."

"Oh, well, what are you two doing?"

"Adjusting," Micah said with a smile before appraising Victoire and continuing with a challenge in her voice, "How long you been 'up'?"

"Not long," Victoire hedged.

"You're the one who unlocked the window, aren't you?" Micah's look was smug. "Checked out the roof, then?"

Disappointed to hear her clever little secret wasn't so clever or so secret after all, Victoire begrudgingly admitted, "Yes, I came in that way."

Fin halted halfway to the door with a bookcase in his grasp to ask, "What roof?"

"Across the fire escape to the building next door. You can get to it from the landing going to Victoire's room," Micah sat in one of the desk chairs in the middle of the landing. "Cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Victoire agreed, "it's almost like it's own room. No chance of anyone seeing you…apparate."

"Exactly," Micah agreed, "very convenient."

Fin took in the information, following the conversation without comment, as he systematically moved furnishings back into the suite. Soon only the chair Micah occupied remained. He opened his mouth, but whatever words he formed were lost.

The house shook under their feet as a tremendous crash echoed from below. Diogy sprang forward barking like mad, and bounded down the stairs where the noise originated. Micah took after the dog before Victoire and Fin, responses a beat behind, sprinted down as well. Fin's initial reaction might not have been as quick, but his long legs made up the difference as he closed in on Micah. Victoire jumped multiple stairs at a time in an attempt to keep up.

The wake of the percussion was almost tangible as it moved up the stairs. The air crackled around them with a charge that met them in a wave as if the house wards surged inward, regrouped, and then pushed back out to their barriers. Victoire felt the tingle around her and it made the hair stand up on her arms.

They were the first to reach the foyer, which was thick with a sawdust cloud slowly settling on every surface. Particles still suspended in the air, caught by the rays of light crossing from the adjoining rooms. Victoire's eyes felt gritty; her mouth dried out and she felt a scratchy, almost sandy, texture all the way down her throat when she tried to swallow.

Teddy and Armond ran up from the kitchen and joined them in the foyer as they all gaped at what they saw.

Through the haze, the rough outline of the main door stood out, only it was bulging awkwardly inward. Almost as if the door itself had expanded to defend against whatever had attempted to penetrate it. There were hairline cracks of light showing through sharp splinters in the wood, but no clear visibility to the outside. The window of the door was dark; whatever covered it opaque enough not to permit any light through.

Diogy barked and sniffed all around the area as others made their way to the stairways, peering cautiously down from the landings above.

"Did anyone see what happened?" Teddy approached the group surveying the scene from the bottom of the stairs.

"No, and its difficult to make anything out from here," Fin responded. They both cautiously approached the wreckage.

"We're trapped?" an anxious voice came down from second floor. "We don't even have our wands. How are we supposed to defend ourselves?"

"I wonder if this is a test? Like, how we handle ourselves in an emergency."

"Whatever this is," Micah called up the stairs, "I doubt it's a standard muggle event. There are other doors. Diogy and I'll go around back, maybe we can see from the street what's going on."

"I'm going with you," Teddy said and addressed Fin, "I'll meet you at the door, and we'll figure it out. Don't get too close if its not safe."

"But, you won't even have a wand." Paulette, having descended mostly down the staircase, held a book in her hand as a weapon.

"You'll have your wand as soon as you clear the back yard," Victoire responded automatically. Micah had not hesitated a second, while Teddy, who had paused, shot Victoire a quick look as he headed toward the back of the house.

Fin was now at the door, still moving cautiously, but intent on inspecting the damage for a source. Victoire and Armond were close, but they really only hovered, unsure of what to do to help. It wasn't long before the dog's bark could be heard.

There was a tense silence in the hall as everyone waited.

Then, Micah's laugh carried through the door. Her words jumbled as she attempted to speak through it, "Wh … who … or… dered … the… rug?"

"Rug?" Victoire's eyes widened in horror and her stomach plunged as she surveyed the damage in a whole new light. _Oh, he didn't! But, then, why wouldn't he?_ She was such an idiot. She never even thought to ask how Owen would send it. She assumed delivery would be via muggle means as with the other items.

"That would be mine," she admitted sheepishly.

Teddy's deep voice broke through Micah's merriment, "I think the house rejected your mode of delivery."

"How bad is it?" Victoire called through the door, feeling the weight of the stares from her housemates.

"It's hard to explain. The rug is impaled in the doorway itself," Teddy surmised from the other side. The door quivered slightly and emitted a wicked creaking sound. "I can't move it."

"Don't try. The house might come down on top of us," Pauline declared in panic. Her own biblio-weapon still raised, and, by the look she threw her, Victoire half expected to be clobbered over the head with it. "We'll have to move until they fix this," she stressed. "Its unsafe."

Fin examined the point of impact. He ran his hands along the door frame paying close attention to the fissures in the wood. "The integrity of the frame itself is intact, and this does not appear to be a load bearing wall. What does it look like from outside?"

"The door is splintered but there are no cracks in the frame," Teddy reported.

"There should be no need to vacate," Fin spoke with conviction, turning his head slightly but not stopping his inspection entirely. "I don't suggest trying to remove the impaled rug right now as that may, in effect, cause more damage." That advice he directed through the door before turning around to the group in the foyer. "Does anyone have their cellular telephone with them? We should apprise Andy of the situation and use an alternative entry in the interim."

Paulette huffed, but pulled out her phone and handed it to Fin. Victoire was grateful to note that Paulette then caught sight of her cousin and promptly divested Pauline of her still raised book.

"You don't know for sure its ok, and how is Andy going to fix this?" Pauline asked, "I mean, I can appreciate the raw and rugged type as much as the next girl, but he can't even cast a spell. How can we be sure we can trust his judgment on safety here?"

"Because the university trusts him. That's why he earned the job," Fin answered in a tone that left no room for argument. He then set about working the phone with concentration and precision.

Victoire had faded to the back of the group and lingered in the entry to the adjacent sitting room. She rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet. One arm crossed below her chest and the other propped on top as she grazed her knuckles across her lips.

A light tapping from the window interrupted her fidgeting. She turned and found Micah on the other side of the glass, motioning for her to open it. It stuck slightly, but Victoire had gotten quite good at prying the windows of the house open. She loosened it but it opened only a quarter of the way. Victoire was fighting with it when Teddy's hands appeared under the frame and gave it the push it needed to release all the way. They proceeded to crawl in the house.

"Well," Micah said as she straightened up, "that works until we get the door fixed." She watched Teddy maneuver his tall frame through the opening. "Or, people can go around the back. Easy enough."

She looked at Victoire. "Sugar, don't let it get you down. It's fixable and the rug might still be useable. Here, take a look. You'll see the humor. I know it."

Victoire reluctantly leaned out the window. She did not see the humor.

She heard a large crack on the street which made her jump until she realized that it was Andy arriving side along with a stocky man who was so short he didn't even come up to Andy's shoulders. The height different was just the beginning of the disparity Victoire detected between the two. Andy was in jeans and a tool belt with an air of calm about him while the other man carried nothing but a wand, donned official brown robes with the Bimas crest on them, and appeared restless to the point of twitchy. Three other men in similar brown robes soon followed them. The group quickly went to work surveying the damage.

Victoire wanted nothing more than to retreat to her room, but the nagging feeling of responsibility had her rooted to the scene. Micah and Teddy had made quick work of the mess outside, but the inside of the house was coated with grit. Micah left for work, Fin for his meeting, and those who had not destroyed university property chose to go out for dinner. Victoire did the only thing she could think of doing.

She looked for cleaning supplies.

Victoire started to sweep the foyer as the crew completed their assessment. She gathered from their discussion that the rug would be removed the next day, and it would take 3-5 additional days to work out the spells to repair the door and return the wards to full functionality. Aside from not being able to use the front door, they determined there were no other concerns for the inhabitants so the crew left with plans to begin fresh in the morning.

Andy stayed to help Victoire clean. She found herself apologizing to him again and couldn't help but wonder if there was anything that could actually ruffle the man. Here he was, after hours, assuring her that it was all going to be fine and offering some tips for making the job of cleaning easier.

It was not long, though, before he was called away to another house where someone had overrun a bathtub. Victoire took some comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only idiot around, but she was still sure she took the prize.

"How are you going to get there?" she asked as Andy retrieved the tool belt he had dropped over the banister when he started cleaning.

"Every house has a car. I'll take the one from here and bring it back when I meet the crew in the morning."

"There's a car?"

"In the garage. That's how you lot are going to learn to drive."

_Drive?_ She really needed to look at the immersion program outline more closely.

Andy left, and, after another half hour, she was fetching what felt like her hundredth pail of clean water for wiping down the stairwells. She returned to find Teddy entering through the window. He balanced a container of food in his hands and seemed to have discovered the correct angle of approach to bring his tall frame though with relative ease.

"It's got to be time to take a break," he said in a careful tone as he held up the container.

"That was nice of you, but I ate with my parents earlier. That's why I didn't go with everyone else." She suspected he did not believe her excuse for ditching the group for dinner.

"It's mostly dessert," he offered again and deftly grabbed the rag from her grasp, replacing it with the outstretched container.

She took it hesitantly and couldn't help peering inside. The container was divided, one side held chips and no fish while the other held something gooey and chocolate.

When she looked up, she noticed Teddy running his finger under the band of his watch. She had never made him nervous before. He caught himself and pulled out a bottle of chocolate milk from his pocket to extend to her as well. He had definitely hit the comfort food.

"Thank you." She didn't trust herself to say more than that. She placed the food and milk down on the second floor landing and used that restroom to wash her hands. When she returned, Teddy was halfway down the stairway wiping the side she had not yet completed.

"You don't have to do that," she insisted.

"I know. Eat, please. The heating charms will wear off soon."

Victoire sat on a step and started picking at the food. A silence hung between them, and Victoire wished she had brought down a wireless or something to fill the space. When she was alone and cleaning up her mess, the quiet seemed suitably punitive. It was a completely different matter when someone else was there. She could not remember actually hearing herself chew before, and, although she was sure it was only audible in her own head, it was disconcerting.

Teddy was the one to break the silence. He spoke as he worked while his eyes remained on the surface he was cleaning. "You got a rug."

"Owen gave it to me. It's an old one from the hotel, but it's in great shape." She hesitated as her glance swept to the front door. "It was."

"They say if it's going to be ok?"

"Depends on how it fused. We should know tomorrow when they extract it for the repairs."

"If you need to get another..." his statement trailed off in uncertainty, and she wondered if he detected her tensing up at the thought of where he might be going with it. He gave a half shrug and left it.

They were quiet for a while. The soft sound of Teddy's cloth making rhythmic strokes across the wood punctuated by the splash of the water when he rinsed it out provided the only background noise in the still house.

"How did you know about the wand in the back yard?" he asked, breaking the trance that had fallen over her as she watched his hands move.

She blinked and looked back at her food, wiping her own hands as she did. "I'm a curse breaker's daughter. I'm surprised you didn't run into my dad testing wards move in day."

"We weren't here long." She heard him turn from his work, and she looked down the few stairs that separated them to witness him struggle with his words, "- I saw Louis, I meant to - well, this summer-"

Victoire gave a weary sigh. "Don't. Not tonight."

He held her gaze for a moment, but, to her relief, he did not push the subject. That added to her gratitude, which led her to speak unprompted for the first time, "Thank you for the food and for staying to clean with me."

"Your welcome." He dropped the rag in the bucket and sat down two steps below her. Reaching for the milk she had placed on the step beside her, he opened it and handed it to her. "Ease up on yourself a bit, ok. No one blames you, except maybe the Pauls and -"

"The Pauls?" Victoire coughed a bit on the milk she had just swallowed as she held back a giggle.

Teddy smiled himself. "Yeah, the Pauls, and they don't count."

It shouldn't have made a difference - hearing it from him when others had said nearly the same thing - but it did.


	9. Didn't Say I Wasn't Tempted

**Chapter 9: Didn't Say I Wasn't Tempted **

The caw of a raven returning from a night flight pulled Victoire from a deep sleep. She startled at the loud, insistent noise which invaded her head and pushed the dull aching toward more pronounced throbbing. She rolled over only to find the bed dropped from under her, or, rather, she was dropping from the bed. Falling and flailing to grab at anything she could to stop the descent, she felt nothing but air for several meters, but it seemed to hold her. The sudden stop never came.

_Was this a dream?_

She clipped a branch with a painful whoosh of an exhale.

_This was no dream. _

She was a bird, and she was flying - rather badly – in a forest without any bearings. Her mind continued to function as if dreaming; clear thoughts were not processed and everything seemed fuzzy. She headed above the tree line to survey before gliding back to the cover of the leaves. The throbbing had subsided to a hazy ache behind her left eye. She tried to ignore it. She tried to focus.

She was in the forest of the reserve. By the look of the feathers matted in the crook of the tree she just tumbled off, it was highly probable she slept there. She thought back over the events of the previous day.

_What the hell happened?_

_

* * *

_

Her day,_ that _day, had started out normal, or as normal as expected for the end of the first week of classes in a new school. Funny, even the oddest things could become routine with merely the slightest of repetition. By midweek, Phineas no longer bothered to correct anyone who called him Fin. After the first day of coming and going, the housemates scarcely noticed they were entering through a window rather than a door while stepping over the questionable remains of a rolled up rug.

Victoire avoided that entire scene when she could, preferring the ease and proximity of the fire escape. Proximity was key that afternoon. She had a meeting to attend, and her need to get it over with propelled her to campus; her thoughts obsessing on the person requesting her presence.

Victoire had expected Bimas Head of Transfiguration, Beatrice Trimble, to be like Minerva McGonagall. It had taken less than five minutes into her admissions interview for Victoire to realize how wrong her assumption had been. McGonagall seldom asked a question for which she did not already have an answer, but she listened, judging not only the answer supplied but also the logic contributing to the response.

Beatrice Trimble liked _her own _answers best and, more often then not, supplied them herself

The admissions interview involved an uncomfortable learning curve, resulting in a theory Victoire had come to think of as the 'Trimble Rule of Eight'. The rule was simple - count to eight before you answer anything. Any less than an eight count had you talking over the woman; any more and you awkwardly missed the small window of opportunity granted to contribute to the conversation.

Victoire never expected to have to practice her theory again, until she received the meeting notice requesting her attendance in Trimble's office. Victoire had checked around. No one else had a meeting that week.

With pleasantries quickly dispensed, Trimble leaned her elbows on her desk and regarded Victoire over her interlaced fingers. "You received your schedule? I'm sure you are wondering about the lack of Transfiguration."

_- six, seven, eight -_

"I believe I was placed out of the introductory class as we discussed this summer in the entrance interview," Victoire replied as she crossed her feet at the ankles under the chair. Her hands drummed lightly on her knees.

"Yes. Yes, you were. I decided that you would not benefit sufficiently from reviewing topics Minerva assured me she covered with you. You do realize there is still _much _you have to learn." A brisk point at the potted plant next to the desk transformed it into a schedule board, crowded with the department's requirements and electives. Each branch was a broad subject with leaves specifying sub-topics, instructors, schedules and students.

"Are you aware of the University's research status?"

Victoire blinked and turned back to face the desk.

_- four, five -_

"The fellowships we offer our senior students are of the highest quality," Trimble's nose actually rose a fraction as she spoke, her chin lifting further above her interlaced hands. "Some of the greatest breakthroughs in Magical history started right here. It is that reputation which draws the best and the brightest from around the globe." Trimble plucked a leaf from the tree representing a register of independent study topics organized by associated fellowships. She slid it across the desktop toward Victoire.

Victoire tucked her feet further under her chair as she scanned the details. The only thing she found remotely familiar was one name on the eligible student list. She struggled to connect what fellowships and research topics had to do with a freshman student such as herself.

"Do you know what percentage of the population can successfully perform an animagus transformation?"

_Oh._

"Less than 10 in any century you care to name," Trimble lectured, "a percentage too small to bother calculating." She sat back in her chair, prepared to go in for the kill. "I've secured funding for a project to uncover new information regarding the animagus ability. Can you envision the potential you hold for such research?"

Victoire felt a sudden pang of longing for the questions that answered themselves.

"I'm not the same." Victoire's pitch approached that of a plea as she addressed the older woman, "Results may be similar, but the method is different." Victoire continued her speech, mostly out of need to correct any misconceptions that she would be interested or beneficial in any high pressure research scenario Trimble had cooked up. "I have none of the identifying marks wizards retain in animagus form, and I cannot be compelled to resume natural shape by any spell. That's what made the earlier shifts so difficult. The first time I had no idea how I had come to be a bird. I panicked. I couldn't communicate. No one, not even McGonagall, could turn me back."

Victoire took a ragged breath, surprised at how upset she still became at the thought of the first event. She knew she had made progress in understanding. She knew she could will it now, but she didn't know if she would ever lose the fear - that lack of control - she had experienced in the beginning. Yet, this Professor wanted to entice her into a research project.

_Lovely. She wondered if she would get some cheese at the end._

"Yes," Trimble soothed. "It was the panic scenario that led to the original term 'hysterical animagus'. I agree with Healer Hayes' assessment that it is in fact an advanced form of protection. I think we will be going forward with the more modern term 'adrenalin animagus'."

The conversation felt so surreal that Victoire fought the urge to pinch herself. She couldn't help but gawk at Trimble.

The woman remained unfazed as she picked up a quill and held it loosely in her hand. "Tell me about that first time. Something turned you back."

Victoire answered automatically, not questioning the woman's right to know, "I was trapped in an alley. I fought to get out. The next thing I knew I was flying. I returned to the store which was a disaster - I knocked things off shelves, some kids caught sight of me and gave chase knocking more things off shelves - until my father showed up looking for me. I wouldn't leave him. I did the only thing I could think to make him understand - I pulled on his earlobe like when I was a baby."

Victoire stared out the window behind Trimble's shoulder, seeing everything in her mind as if she had been a casual observer that day. "Dad stared at me. He understood. He sent for McGonagall, thinking that I'd been transformed by someone, but she couldn't change me back." Victoire stopped there for a moment before continuing, "Dad kept saying he was there for me and it was going to be alright. His presence calmed me down to the point where I changed back - without consciously doing anything."

She looked back at Trimble, "You see? I'm not convinced I can help. I may have learned to control it to a degree, but I could never teach someone else-"

"You underestimate your potential," Trimble interjected. "If we can unlock the mysteries behind your response, we can surely simplify the manual transformation for others and make that possibility accessible to more people." She passed Victoire an updated class schedule with an additional slot marked 'Adv Trans Ind Study'.

Her voice held the air of dismissal as she addressed Victoire again, "I'll pair you up with one of our independent study students. We simply cannot let an opportunity that hasn't presented itself for millennia pass us by. Be proud of what you are doing for all wizard kind."

Victoire took the paper offered and numbly stood up. She turned and took one step toward the door as her mind replayed the conversation.

**No.**

She turned back to Trimble who had already moved on to some paperwork after having dispatched Victoire so efficiently. "I have one condition," Victoire interrupted, bringing the other woman's head around sharply. "I want to work with Phineas Colburn."

Trimble blinked and cocked her head before responding in a measured tone, "Phineas is one of our advanced students." She retracted the register from the top of the desk and tucked it away. "He has amassed an impressive amount of credits in his short time here, but he will not qualify for apprenticeship until the end of this term. There are students in their final year who have already accepted a research apprenticeship with the University. They would benefit more from the opportunity."

"Phineas will be fine," Victoire conveyed more determination in her voice than deserved given the knots in her stomach. "I know him. We live in the same house."

"You will get to know the others, and proximity is hardly a concern when the project will be conducted in a campus lab. Under strict control," Trimble's statement held particular emphasis on the last bit.

"Phineas will be fine," Victoire repeated and was met with a stony silence. She was momentarily at a loss. Her rule did nothing to prepare her for a lull. "I hear he's a lab assistant already," she blurted.

Trimble's features pinched together. "He's assisting the Wandlore Department, not Transfiguration," she bit out.

_Obviously the wrong thing to throw into the conversation. Why didn't she leave when she had the chance?_

Trimble was muttering now, "Nathaniel's influence, no doubt."

Victoire backed to the door. She met Trimble's calculating glance as she closed her hand over the knob behind her. "I'm sure we will be fine. Thank you for the opportunity."

She opened the door and fled.

"If I get you an ice cream cone, will you smile?"

Victoire snapped out of her thoughts and swung around to find Owen catching pace with her from a nearby Apparition site.

"It would have to have sprinkles," she insisted, the tug around the corners of her mouth completely contradicting her statement. "What are you doing around here?"

"Heading to your house." He looked the other way at the trees. "Not that you invited me," he accused. "Luckily, I have other friends."

"Aw, look at how cute you pout. You could bottle that up."

"If only." He swung back to survey her, grey eyes intent. "You mad at me?"

"Mad? No." She halted and shook her head. "Wasn't your fault."

"Sure? 'Cause muggles sell sprinkles in bulk." He winked. "I know a guy."

"Don't call in any sprinkle favors for me." She linked her arm with his to lead the way to the house. "At least not today."

The street they strolled was busy, lined with old buildings that had seen a lot of living. At one point, a developer with political aspirations proposed compulsory purchase for the neighborhood. Residents fought back, running the overzealous developer to another part of the city with his lofty plan for uniformity. The near miss spurred a renaissance of sorts within the area and a backlash against any amount of conformity. Neighborhood tolerance served the inhabitants of the immersion house well, making up for whatever the disillusionment and muggle repelling charms didn't cover.

They approached the house midway down the street. Owen's pace picked up and he turned in without prompting. Victoire veered for the window automatically but came up short. She surveyed the area. "What happened to it?"

"Don't ask me," Owen replied with a shrug, "I don't live here." He extracted his wand, pulled out a package from his pocket and restored it to normal size. It's contents, varying snacks by the look of them, spilled over the top.

Victoire narrowed her eyes at him before she approached the door cautiously and tried the handle. The door swung open and her wand appeared in the protective cabinet, followed closely by Owen's as he stepped up behind her.

"Huh," she murmured, but before she vocalized her thought, something caught her eye and chased all her suspicions away. She giggled. "Your middle name is _Valentine_?"

Owen flinched. "How did you –" He followed her pointed finger to the cabinet where his wand was neatly labeled along with the rest. He looked back at her with one eyebrow raised. "Do you really want to get into the name game?"

Victoire sobered up. "Uh, no."

"Didn't think so." Owen surveyed the wand cabinet. "Looks like a full house."

"And then some," Victoire replied as she cast a glance over the wands neatly displayed in the cabinet. The emerald inlaid hilt on the wand labeled 'Iska Corinne Kincaid' stood out prominently.

The third floor was alive with activity as people began to congregate; the first week under their belts and deadlines not yet looming. Iska had finished her makeover of Teddy and Armond's suite earlier that day and party preparations were centered there. Victoire left Owen at the landing and headed to her room to drop her bag.

She opened the door and took in a sharp breath. The floor was covered with a rug - her rug - same colors, same pattern. It looked like new. It's colors popped out happily against the otherwise bland furnishings and walls. It was like a different room; no bigger, but it had personality. She dropped her bag on the desk, kicked off her shoes, and walked around, thrilled at the muffled sound of her own footsteps. Returning down the stairs, she opened the door at the bottom to find Teddy hovering. Waiting for her reaction, no doubt. She was certain she didn't disappoint.

"How?"

"Owen mentioned your enthusiasm at finding **that** rug." Teddy's dark eyes shone. "Iska didn't need to hear any more; she was determined to make sure you had the one you picked, and the Kincaids have a house elf that works wonders on everything."

"I don't know what to say-"

"Don't say anything," Teddy coached, "I want things to be good … with us." She met his earnest stare and was captured there. "I, um, I never wanted to hurt your feelings with the quill." He broke eye contact for a moment, looking down briefly. "I was … I was trying not to hurt Iska's." He looked back up. "She's a little possessive," he finished with a degree of reluctance.

Victoire stared at him.

"Are we… good?" he pressed. When she nodded, he pulled her into an enthusiastic embrace. "This is going to be excellent."

Wrapped in his arms, she couldn't disagree.

His voice carried over her head, breath tickling her hair, "Your happy. Iska's happy. I told Owen you two would get along."

She pulled back slightly.

"What do we have here?" Armond stepped out into the landing. "Where's mine? Or didn't he mention I carried that rug up four flights muggle style." He flexed his nonexistent biceps.

Victoire stepped toward safer territory with Armond. She playfully squeezed his wiry arms before giving him a quick hug. "Thanks. I can't believe you lot did it."

Teddy pointed between himself and his roommate. "We weren't going to be the only ones enduring a makeover today."

Armond caught on. "Smile and nod," he agreed, nodding for effect. "As long as everyone's happy, who cares what the towels look like?" He turned and waved over his shoulder. "Off to procure party provisions."

Victoire surveyed the landing. Teddy and Armond's door stood open, people were beginning to flow in and out of their suite, but the door to the room across the hall was closed. Micah's compact script bisected a white board mounted to it, noting her night shift and punctuated with a looping 'M'. Victoire wondered how that transition was really going for them. She caught passing mentions of a roommate code, but no specifics.

"Is Fin around?"

Teddy shook his head. "Dinner plans somewhere."

"He graduated one year before me, how is he already in independent study for Transfiguration and a lab assistant in Wandlore?"

The question was half rhetorical. Teddy surprised her when he answered, "He's been attending classes nonstop since first year. His parents co-chair the Bimas board of directors, and when he wasn't in Hogwarts, they had him attending lectures here."

She cocked her head at him.

He laughed. "I know things."

When she didn't relent her stare, he continued, "Neville introduced us when I first considered applying here." Teddy gave a lopsided grin and leaned in to confess, "It was odd having a sixth year tell me about university lectures and labs."

"No doubt."

"Theo, can you get some proper glasses, love?" Iska stepped to the doorway, flanked by the Pauls. "We don't want Paulette and Pauline drinking out of a bottle now, do we?"

Teddy straightened up and beamed at her. "Certainly not, ladies, I'll be right back." He turned to Victoire. "What can I get you?"

She waved a hand. "Good for now, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

A single stride brought him to the door where he grabbed Iska's hand for a quick squeeze before loping down the stairs. Victoire couldn't repress a quick intake of breath at the gesture. She didn't think anyone noticed; Iska's satisfied smile never changed when their eyes met, and the Pauls were busy gazing down the stairs and exchanging their own looks before pulling Iska back into the suite to commend her choice of leather desk blotters and quill holders.

Victoire didn't fancy following that lot into the room. Undecided as to what she should do, she wavered in the middle of the landing before she caught the sounds of a quidditch debate rising up the stairs. A quick look down the stairwell confirmed Owen and Armond heading up from a run to the kitchen; Armond with a box of various bottles, Owen with a drink in one hand and a bag of ice slung over his shoulder. Victoire cut Owen off when he reached the top step.

"You knew."

"Sure did." He leaned against the banister himself. "But, I categorically deny any knowledge of holes in the wall or missing sugar quills."

Owen tossed Teddy the ice bag as he ascended the stairs with a stack of glasses. Teddy almost toppled the glassware, but managed to hang on while fumbling the heavy bag. "Wanker," he offered as he passed his friend.

Owen watched Teddy disappear into the room before continuing. "Teddy's your instigator. Came to the hotel wanting to replace it, but," he shrugged, "only one we had and 20 years old." He took a swig from his glass.

"Sounded like you had some things to say, at least," she accused.

"Don't recall what I said exactly," he bumped her shoulder with his, "but I can tell you I left out the possibility that your enthusiasm for the rug wasn't limited to the pattern."

Victoire scoffed and bumped him back. A stream of new people Victoire vaguely recognized from class came through, invited by the always social Armond. The party was getting bigger, spilling more and more out onto the landing. They allowed the sounds of other conversations drift over them for a while.

"I have to thank Iska," Victoire stated with all the enthusiasm one would expect from a Dragon Keeper announcing the need to pull a Hungarian Horntail's tooth.

Owen nodded and glanced where Iska stood, her arm casually intertwined with Teddy's as they mingled. "Spending time with Teddy means spending time with Iska. She makes him happy. I don't always get it either, but there it is."

Victoire's hopeful glance swung to his face before quickly fading when she realized Owen was not going to offer her any more than that. She sighed. "I don't want her to be nice to me. I don't want to like her."

He chuckled and offered her his glass. "Liquid courage?"

She thought about it. For a brief instant, she considered it, then shook her head and pulled herself away from the banister.

"One day I'm going to tempt you." He tipped his glass to her and winked.

Victoire managed a cheeky grin with her reply, "Didn't say I wasn't tempted."

His boisterous laugh followed her as she crossed the landing to the suite, drawing the attention of the group she approached. Iska was at the center, holding court over those around her. Victoire steeled herself, thinking the audience was actually a blessing in the form of a buffer.

"Iska, thank you for having the rug fixed. I really appreciate it. Can't I do anything-"

"It was our pleasure," Iska interjected smoothly. "Theo warned me you'd try to repay the gesture. I'm here to tell you, I won't hear of it, and I assure you, I always get my way." She wagged her finger at Victoire with the beat of her last four words.

"I can't believe it was fixable." Unsure what to do with her hands, Victoire settled for sticking them in her pockets. She was quite sure she didn't want to hug Iska, not that Iska struck her as someone who hugged, so that was likely just fine.

"Those maintenance men were ruthless," Iska sympathized.

"Absolute brutes," Pauline parroted while Paulette nodded.

"I suspect they were not chosen for their finesse," Iska acknowledged the girls before turning back to Victoire. "No matter, you have your rug now. It's a bold choice," she commented as she stood surrounded by the understated earth tones she had chosen for Teddy, "but you are a bold woman."

For the second time in their acquaintance, Victoire did not have a ready response to Iska's assessment of her. She was spared from formulating one, however, when something in the bedroom caught Iska's attention. Victoire followed her stare.

One of the beds had a handmade quilt tossed across the end. It was the only thing not making it look like a giant chocolate bar with its deep brown duvet. The quilt was made of old sweaters; each square a letter, smaller letters in the middle going to larger letters around the outsides. Victoire knew the quilt. She knew one of the G's had a singe mark, the J had a snag from a tenacious garden gnome, and the small H had a pumpkin juice stain.

Her grandmother helped her make it for Teddy the year he went to Hogwarts. There it rested, marking another beginning for him.

"Where did that come from?" Iska regarded the quilt as if it were an oily rag tossed on her pristine Egyptian cotton.

A beaming Teddy stood behind her so he did not catch the look. "I picked it up from Andromeda's."

Still facing the bed, the look turned inquisitive, the tone lightly teasing, "When did you have time for that?"

Still behind her, still beaming, the tone slightly proud, "When you sent me out to get food."

Iska turned and studied him with a bemused shake of her head. "Theo, love," she scolded, "It doesn't go with anything."

He wrapped his arms around her. "It goes with me."

Victoire turned away. Her heart, which had soared at the sight of the quilt he still valued, plunged with the intimacy that was no longer hers. She passed the Paul's in the doorway, swooning over the scene. Victoire picked up, "-good ones taken," whispered as she passed. She left in search of Fin.

A long hour later, Fin emerged from downstairs and, much to her surprise, he approached her where she was perched on the window seat opposite the stairway.

"I ran into Professor Trimble today."

"I ran away from Professor Trimble today."

He exhaled a chuckle, making eye contact for the briefest second. "You scored an independent study right out of Hogwarts."

_Merlin love him_, his tone wasn't the least bit incredulous. He sounded impressed, not shocked. Victoire opted to savor the moment before she had to set him straight. "Trimble give you the topic?"

He nodded. "Origin of the Animagus Transformation. She completely disregarded my proposed thesis." The hint of a scowl played along his features. "I think it's her way of punishing me."

Victoire's ears perked at that statement. "For choosing the Wandlore Lab?"

"I believe I burned a bridge there." He looked off into space for a moment.

"If you like Wandlore better-" Victoire ventured.

"I don't." He caught himself and backtracked a bit. "That's to say, I am intrigued by the subject matter, but I do prefer Transfiguration. It's more defined, precise. It's why I kept my independent study in Transfiguration." He stopped as if realizing something. "Was that topic your thesis?"

"No, but I know a little about the subject."

He startled and looked at her full on with wide eyes. They were a nice muted green when you got to look into them. "Already?"

_This was fun_. He was so impressed he forgot she was a girl.

She nodded as he dropped down beside her.

"Cool."

"I'm not always sure of that." She chewed her bottom lip and regarded him for a moment. She had not thought through her actions earlier that day; business as unusual for her, but not for someone like Fin. "Are you cool with it? The lab, I mean."

His brows drew together slightly and his lips tightened. "I might be better switching to another lab. Potions, maybe. It's not you," he rushed, "I worry that if Trimble is proving a point, denying me my thesis, she might not stop there."

Victoire knew who had denied him his thesis. She had done it because she trusted him. Because Fin was one of those people who believed in the right and wrong way for everything - one of those people who made their decisions with the right way in mind.

"I never had a thesis. I'm more lab rat than lab partner," she confessed. She could practically see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes, the spark of connections, the analysis of possible meanings. She felt sure she would never experience that speed of synthesis, not even in snidget form, when everything was instinct and reaction.

"You?"

"I have the condition, the precursor to the animagus transformation, the natural ability that inspired it." She let that set in.

"How long?"

"Fifth year."

"How did you - "

"Long story, and one I'm afraid you won't be able to speak of."

"Fidelius?"

She nodded. Looking around, she felt the inappropriateness of the conversation for the first time. The little nook provided by the window seat felt private, but wasn't exactly - not without a silencing charm. "I shouldn't have brought it up here, but," she drew a deep breath to fuel her next statements, "I asked for you. If I was going to be coerced, I wanted someone I knew. I didn't think that you would have plans already. I'm sorry." She took a regular breath and looked at him. "I'll go back to Trimble-"

Fin held up his hand to halt her. "Can you give me a day? To research?"

She brightened. "You'd consider it?" She heard the eagerness in own her voice and shook her head. "I'm sorry again. I won't pressure, really. Make the decision that's best for you. Take two days, yeah?"

"It won't take me that long." He stood to go, turning as he reached his door. "Where's the rug?"

Victoire pointed up as she too stood.

"It's good?"

She nodded. "With a little help from my friends. Andy's crew fixed the door so no more obstacle course to get in."

"Most will likely continue through the window, at least for a while." When she cocked her head at that, he continued, "It's no switching staircase, but I suspect on some level the abnormality is a comforting break from normal muggle life which no one finds completely comfortable yet." Fin caught sight of Micah's note board and amended, "Most of us don't."

Fin disappeared. _Off to research_, Victoire supposed. She scanned the crowd again. Owen was chatting up a couple of girls from her Potions Theory class. He gave her a covert thumbs up when she wagged her eyebrows at him. She was glad to see he had shaken Pauline who had shadowed him for a while after Teddy introduced them. She herself was tired of introductions, party talk, and dodging her own shadows. She knew the party would soon be gearing to move to a public venue now that it was a fashionable hour to arrive.

Victoire took her cue from Fin and slipped through the door to her little stairway. She padded across her room and stared out the window for a moment before grabbing the water dish on the sill and heading to the sink with it. She replaced it in the open window with one last scan of the sky. "Goodnight, Gidget."

She did a little dance on her rug while she gathered her sleepwear. It must have been some job getting it in, yet everything was back in place as she left it. She watched the moon light soak into the pattern now defining her own little space in the world. Life wasn't everything she wanted it to be right now, not every thing was going her way, but she was determined to celebrate the things that were.

* * *

The caw of the raven jarred her once more. The big black bird posturing and preening nearby was more than twice her size, stalking his territory which she desperately hoped was limited to the tree. _Merlin help her if that was a mating dance._

Fully awake, the headache had subsided, yet she still couldn't wrap her mind around why she was there even having replayed everything she could remember right up till she went to sleep the night before. She hadn't taken a sip of anything remotely resembling alcohol. She knew how potent even the slightest amount could be for the metabolism of a bird; how damaging for the instinct and equilibrium necessary to fly. _She had been so careful, hadn't she? What had transformed her? Why couldn't she remember? _

She should remember changing. She always had in the past.

The air split again with another screech. _Enough with the noise. She had bigger issues than some bully bird wanting his tree back, and if the raven didn't like that, he could kiss her golden feathered arse. _She dropped to the forest floor, transformed, and blasted the noisy beast with a gush of water, her fairy wand emitting a rainbow of sparks in the wake of the liquid.

"Take that!"

* * *

**AN: Thanks to my super secret beta for looking this over before I posted. Comments and feedback are always appreciated as well :)**


	10. Adventures in Competitive Table Poaching

**Chapter 10: Adventures In Competitive Table Poaching**

"Micah, we're the only women here."

"Noticed," she replied, examining the wood paneled lounge with its leather club chairs clustered around large ottomans. Its many men gathered throughout. "Might explain why the doorman checked the invitation twice."

"And, why he was laughing when he said, 'Sure, _Michael_, why not bring your friend along'."

"I'm laughing too." And she was. "How come you're not?"

Victoire stared at her. They were late, of course, so the reception was in full swing when they entered, making their presence even more obvious. She felt like a trespasser. She wondered when the last time – if there was any other time - a woman had passed the threshold into this fortress of testosterone. She'd wager the furniture would swallow her whole. Oversized and overstuffed, every chair and table looked like it was built to withstand a heard of raging centaurs. The air smelled of seared meat, wood polish, and aged leather. Barring the thick pile of the oriental rugs and the heavy velvet of the drapes, there wasn't a fabric to be found throughout the vast room's torch lit interior.

Micah stood unperturbed by the attention their attendance warranted. Victoire regretted agreeing to come. Truth be told, she didn't remember being asked. Micah showed up with the invitation and told her to stop hiding and get dressed.

She hadn't been hiding. She'd been napping. A week had passed since she first woke up in the forest, and she hadn't made it through the night in her own bed since. She greeted the mornings nestled in some neighborhood crook or cranny, never feeling as if she'd slept at all. It was beginning to wear on her, but she hadn't yet managed to admit what was happening to anyone.

"We should leave," Victoire whispered, trying not to move her lips as she formed the words.

"Why?"

Victoire didn't have time to explain the obvious due to the approach of a pair of men. She wondered if they had appointed themselves the welcoming committee or the bouncers.

"You birds lost?" The first, a stocky dark haired man with a swagger, greeted them with an appraising look and a crooked grin.

"Teacups are west side," the second one, a short man with no neck, taunted.

"Teasley Hall?" Micah scoffed, "Bunch of salad eaters. My invite says Viriliter."

The first man snorted and held out a hand for the invitation.

"Victoire Weasley," the second one leered, "Heard_ you_ were on campus."

"Easy, killer," the first man chided his friend, looking up from the invitation. "You're making the lady uncomfortable." He squinted at Micah for a moment before his eyes widened. "You were with Colburn. Yesterday." He turned to scan the interior of the oversized man cave.

Victoire saw him first, in a group of black leather chairs across the room. Phineas was talking, leaning forward in his seat; knees spread wide, elbows propped on them, hands moving to illustrate whatever he was saying. The man opposite reclined in his seat; one arm slung over the back, the other loosely cupped a glass on the rolled arm of his chair, his feet propped up on the cocktail ottoman between them. Whatever they were discussing, it was holding the attention of more guys standing behind their chairs. Some were leaning in, all were grinning, and a few punctuated the discussion with their own remarks.

"Colburn!"

Phineas began turning toward the summons, but didn't break eye contact with his friend until he had finished his sentence. When his head swung around fully and his eyes caught up, they locked on Micah and widened. He no longer looked relaxed.

"You know these ladies," the stocky man's voice boomed across the room again. Every pair of eyes that hadn't already checked out their arrival trained in on Victoire and Micah.

Phineas excused himself from his group, crossing the room in a few quick strides. "Is something wrong?"

"Fin," Micah glossed over the question, "If I knew you were invited as well, we could have walked together."

"Together?" the greeter packed a lot of emphasis into the word.

"Invited…" Phineas stalled for a moment, realizing what the other man had said. He looked at both members of the welcoming parade, closed his eyes for a moment. He took a breath before making quick introductions; the tall greeter's name was Vincent, his sidekick Stanley. "I told the membership I was taking residence in a Muggle Immersion House this year," Phineas went on to explain, gesturing between himself and the girls, "We're all in the same house."

Vincent's grin grew wider. "That right, _Fin_?"

Phineas winced but ignored Vincent, turning to Micah instead with what appeared to be great hope the situation could be resolved quickly. Victoire was rooting for him; she was good with leaving. Just their luck, however, Stanley preempted Phineas.

"Why sign up for immersion?" He threw Phineas an incredulous look. "You had the perfect exemption."

"She's not _an exemption_. She's my sister," Phineas snapped.

"Easy," apparently Vincent liked that word. "Stan's merely confused why someone would use an exemption one year and renounce it the next." He eyed both men. "Topic for another time." His cocky smile returned as he motioned in the direction of the girls. "We have guests."

A simple wave of a hand and the men were beyond whatever had transpired the previous minute. Victoire wished she had that capacity. Even a little bit.

Phineas returned to task, addressing Micah at last, "You didn't gather that the invitation was a mistake? Bimas still thinks you're male."

Stanley laughed, "I'm afraid we'll have to have verification on that."

"I'm afraid you won't be getting that," Micah bantered right back.

"Don't you have a prospect you're sponsoring?" Phineas pinched the bridge of his nose before gazing down it at Stanley. "I think your time's better spent introducing the bore around. Presently, there isn't a deatheater's chance at Hogwarts his name's passing the goblet."

Phineas then turned to Vincent before anyone else could interject anything. "And, your cousin's quoting the Quibbler."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I'm casting the blackball for him myself." He grabbed Stanley, "We'll leave you to it, then." He shot Phineas a pointed, though still highly amused, look. "For now." He affected a bow in the direction of the girls. "Ladies." One tug on Stanley's arm, and they were winding their way through the room.

"You're a member here?" Victoire asked in the wake of their retreat. It was an obvious question, but she felt the need to say something. She could feel eyes on them from all directions. It unnerved her.

He nodded. "Umm, can you go? Please. The guys are trying to get to know some of the new students, and you two are… distracting."

"Sure, Fin." Micah agreed to which Phineas let out a sigh of relief.

"One thing first." Ignoring Victoire's groan, she added, "Point me to the powder room."

She smiled sweetly at Phineas.

"Can't you…" his words trailed off awkwardly.

Micah shook her head.

Victoire suppressed a giggle. She felt downright evil for it, but it was there nonetheless.

Phineas pointed to a hall midway across the room.

"Thank you," Micah beamed and spun on her heals in that direction.

Victoire took pity on Phineas as Micah strode off, promising they would be gone the minute Micah emerged again and convincing him to return to his seat. Her gesture left her uncomfortably exposed when he relented, heading back with a quick check over his shoulder halfway across the room. She planned to stay close to the door, but when time ticked by without Micah's return, she was forced to consider looking for her. She contemplated the pros and cons of a search until a man, previously leaning against a polished wood paneled wall nearby, pushed himself off and approached with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Victoire made a beeline for the powder room.

No Micah. _How had she missed her?_ Victoire stepped out cautiously. She glanced around until she caught the sound of a dulcet voice amidst the deeper, raucous chorus of the Viriliter membership and their eager-to-make-an-impression prospects.

Micah stood by some windows, framed by their rich velvet drapes, chatting up someone from their Wandlore lab. Brian was his name. On her approach, Victoire caught excerpts of how they found themselves in a Viriliter party. Micah had an appetizer in her hand as she laughed along with Brian. Victoire strode up and grabbed the hand not handling the food.

"Hi Brian," she greeted, "We need to be going now so you boys can have your fun. See you in class Monday?"

"Sure." He nodded with a smile. "You going out," he asked hopefully, "Maybe I'll see you later."

"You might," Micah responded before Victoire could reply.

They left Brian, but Micah stalled at several other spots.

"Micah," Victoire scolded the other girl who had snagged another appetizer passing by, throwing her what she hoped approached Nana's you-didn't-just do-that look. "We promised we would leave. Not raid their pantry."

"Whole point of an eating club should be eating." Micah pulled a beef kabob from a hovering tray and twirled it around to admire. "These boys know how to eat!"

"Genuine elf rolled cigars, mates," a new arrival called, lifting a cedar box above his head like a trophy, triggering a wave of '_Viriliter age!'_ shouts throughout the room. He stuttered to a stop when he caught site of the girls. "Ah, bugger. Who brought their bint?"

Victoire shot Micah another look.

"OK, fine," she conceded. "Another round of appetizers and we're gone."

"Are we going to Teasley's meet and greet?" Victoire's eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure she was up for another membership audition, especially knowing good and well Micah wasn't interested in joining a social club. Even for food. Micah's mode of operating ran more along the lines of pulling men from the bar where she worked to take her to dinner.

"That was yesterday." Micah stuck her tongue out at Victoire. "You missed it. Lucky you."

That sounded about right. Victoire vaguely remembered seeing the invitation, and she thought the house was quiet yesterday evening. "That why the Pauls were so fussed?"

Micah smiled. "They want in Teasley bad. And don't think it doesn't tick them off the Teacups asked where you were."

"I don't want to be a Teacup."

"Exactly."

Victoire shook her head. The estrogen rich environment of the woman's eating club was perfect for the Pauline and Paulette. For Victoire, none of them, not even the less exclusive mixed gender halls, seemed to be worth the trouble. Sure, she liked the idea of having her meals cooked for her whenever she wanted, but she didn't need to pay dues. She had a Mum for that.

Not quite to the entry yet, Victoire cast a guilty glance across the room and caught Phineas tracking their progress. She hadn't anticipated competing with food and needed to give Micah a better incentive to hurry. "How're things going with Fin? He going to survive your invasion of his turf?"

Micah's confident expression never wavered, but she picked up her pace as she answered, "Good." She nodded, finishing the last bite of her kabob before continuing, "He's getting used to me. Building up a tolerance so to speak. 'Course I make sure I'm fully dressed at all times." She wiped her mouth one last time and deposited her napkin in a nearby bin. "That kind of thing could set us back entirely."

The door was in sight. They were almost there when someone called out. Victoire instinctively straightened at the sound of the voice, raking the hair back from the side of her face as she turned. Teddy and Armond were at the hospitality bar a short distance from the entry.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted when they walked up. They can't have been there long. She would have known if they had been there the whole time.

"Got an invitation." Teddy replied, "Better question: what are you?"

Victoire rolled her eyes. "Long story," she said.

"Got an invitation," Micah said.

"But, obviously not that long." Victoire bowed her head and peaked back up at Teddy.

"Invitation," Armond chimed in, looking between the girls and settling on Micah, "You two the entertainment?"

"No."

"Ritual sacrifice?"

Micah shook her head. "Clerical error."

Armond feigned disappointment. "I liked mine better."

"You do have a certain flair," Micah admitted. "We were just on our way out, _right_, Vic?"

_Oh, yes, that. _

Before Victoire could articulate, Teddy spoke up, "I'm glad you're here. I was looking for you."

She brightened, "You were?"

"Yeah, about Owen. We finished his list-"

"When?"

"Today. Iska's traveling this week so we hit the last together. Thing is," he paused and gave her a loaded look, "We didn't find an answer, not even with the women."

"No," her voice sank with her spirits. "Where is he now?"

Teddy shrugged, " 'On walkabout' which is Owen for hotel skipping until he gets over his strop and is fit company again."

"You let him go?"

"There was no letting," Teddy stated, not affronted by the accusation in her tone.

"We need to find him," Victoire insisted.

"You won't find him if he doesn't want to be found," Teddy affirmed dropping a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

"He's done this before?"

Teddy gave a nod. "Last year, when he lost his wand. We ran into some trouble; sank a boat, he blamed himself."

"What?" She glared at him, earning a second hand on the other shoulder; like he was holding her to the spot.

"That's a long story," his voice was calm, reassuring.

"Sank a boat," chimed Armond. The group turned to stare at him. "What?" he complained, "That only works once?"

Micah slapped her hand over her eyes and shook her head.

Victoire turned back to Teddy, searching his face. "So, you're saying we do nothing?"

"You can't find him, but you can let him _know_ that you're looking." His hands slipped from her shoulder to grasp each of hers. "That helps."

She wasn't convinced, but she nodded, taking comfort in his dark eyes. The look was familiar even if their color remained unsettling to her.

An owl and a phone call later, Victoire entered the Leaky Cauldron with Micah. As Teddy warned, she failed to get a response from Owen by wizard or muggle means. She did reach his assistant. Dorothy assured her that if anyone could track the man down, she could. Victoire took some comfort in that.

"You did what you could," Micah consoled as she guided Victoire further into the pub. "There's nothing else for you to do tonight."

Victoire nodded vaguely as she assessed their chances of getting a seat. _Not bloody likely_. The place was packed, not an open chair in sight. The bar was standing room only, four deep all around, and the outer walls were lined with people. One particularly brave group crowded the floo. They appeared to have worked out the logistics with some impressive hovering charms to lift their beverages to the ceiling at the first spark of green. The wizards themselves weren't as slick, Victoire noted, as someone stumbled out of the grate and knocked them around a bit. They didn't seem to care as long as nothing spilled. She watched them stumble, prop up the couple coming through, push the pair along to the bar area, and reassemble with hands held up to snag their drinks back.

"Maybe, we should call it a night," she ventured. "You know, go home and let the dog out." She hadn't gotten a proper nap before Micah swooped in on her, and her friend's boundless energy was making her feel tired and sluggish in comparison. Not that she relished the thought of going to bed; not when she had no idea what her feathered self was up to in the wee hours.

Micah tossed her head back over her shoulder. "Diogy's fine." They wove their way through the maze of cramped tables, nearing the center of the pub. "Fin's a runner. Takes him for miles every morning. I tossed him some balls this afternoon. Trust me, the dog's sleeping."

_Lucky him_.

Victoire had no idea where Micah was headed until three Ministry employees at a table all rose at the precise moment she and Micah neared.

Adeptly, Micah slid in and procured the table. She even managed the blessing of its previous occupants, one of which held the chairs out for her and Victoire. The crowd surged as the Ministry employees stood. Scouts from other standing groups pressed in to see where they might have vacated, only to wander back to the periphery disappointed.

"That was impressive," Victoire complimented over the empty glasses.

"Not my first time in a pub."

A man approached snagging the extra chair for his girlfriend which he then presented with a all the pride of a game winning snitch. The waitress followed, cleaning the table debris with a flourish and taking their order. When she departed, Micah spoke up, "Putting aside your friend's problem, are we going to talk about your problem?"

Victoire froze. _She knew? Had Micah seen her? Had she witnessed what Victoire couldn't remember?_ Her palms moistened. She wasn't sure if she felt more relieved or scared that Micah might know what had been happening the last week. "Problem," she squeaked.

Micah nodded, "You change. Whenever he enters the room, it's like you go on hyper alert."

Victoire blinked, taking a moment to acclimate to the topic. "Teddy?"

"There are other men out there, you know, every bit as attractive," Micah lectured, "More than a few of them have the added bonus of being attracted to you."

She nodded toward a table of quidditch players. Victoire glanced to the side and met with a pair of light green eyes. She looked down at the table, and heard Micah sigh.

"You can't get over him, if you never look away from him."

The waitress returned to drop off their order, and Victoire took another peak to her right. Mr. Green Eyes was still looking at her. This time he smiled. He had a great smile; natural, without a hint of suggestion or arrogance. Victoire felt her lips curve up in response with her own shy smile.

It had been a long time since Victoire had allowed herself to enjoy a man's attention. In her experience, attention was a double edged sword. It provided benefits, sure, but all too often there was a price to be paid. Expectations, based on superficial assessments and having nothing to do with the real person, often led to disappointment; sometimes even anger when she proved not to be who someone wanted her to be.

_Teddy knew the real her_, her traitorous thoughts broke through,_ and she had proven not to be what he wanted either_.

She looked back at Micah before her thoughts could cloud her features, but she could tell Micah picked up on something. She quickly spoke to convince herself as much as Micah, "You're right. I need to take a chance and go for it."

"Woah," Micah cautioned, clearly taken back by the swift turn and the determination in Victoire's tone, "How far are you willing to go? You need to be clear on that before you go anywhere." She put a hand lightly on Victoire's forearm. "Because I'm not suggesting you go for _it_ at all. You don't need to further complicate your life with_ it_ just now."

"What were you just saying?"

"Go for him, or rather give him a chance when he comes for you, but – sugar, really." She removed her hand from Victoire and propped her chin on it, regarding her friend. "Do you ever stop to test the water before you dive in?"

A fleeting image of a hippocampus flashed through Victoire's mind.

Micah shook her head. "I bartend, muggle or wizard, its all the same. The biggest regrets are over things done for the wrong reasons."

"I have no intention of going all the way with the guy," Victoire leaned in and lowered her voice as she said it, although the background noise made the gesture unnecessary. "What do you think of me?"

"I think that its more important to know how far you_ are_ willing to go rather than how far you_ are not_ willing to go," Micah returned evenly, continuing with a pointed look. "Eliminates any confusion that might arise in the heat of the moment."

Victoire sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. "I'm pretty sure home is where I want to go now."

"You can't." Micah raised her glass in front of her mouth as she continued, "You get up now, you're going to run right into him."

Victoire looked over her shoulder and there he was, same easy smile gracing his features.


	11. Just Bob, Bob, Bobbing Along

**Chapter 11: Just Bob, Bob, Bobbing Along**

The next morning, Victoire barely made it home in time to shower before meeting Andy and the third floor residents for their first muggle shopping excursion. She felt knackered, she looked knackered, and she couldn't shake the concern that she broadcasted the fact that she'd been up to something she shouldn't. She might not have needed to worry so much as the Viriliter party had apparently raged deep into the night; the boys were visibly dragging as well. Micah and Andy, the only ones showing any real life during the short walk to the neighbourhood market, led the group like grand marshals in a parade of the walking dead, with Diogy on point to herd the stragglers.

_So_, Victoire wondered, _why was she battling a strange compulsion to explain, something… anything? _

Truly, how would she even explain that she left Nico Mancini, up and coming chaser for Puddlemere United, because she could barely keep her eyes open despite his dangerously engaging personality and captivating smile - only to come home and spend the remainder of her night doing Merlin knows what in snidget form. The walk through the neighbourhood should have been familiar to her, and yet, the angle of everything - buildings, light posts, bushes and trees – struck her as awkward that morning.

_How quickly she had reached the point where she'd experienced the route more from above. _

In hindsight, she could have spent the night with Nico for all the sleep she managed. The warmth of him beside her in the proximity of the overcrowded pub rated far preferable than the sticky cobwebs and grit of the cold metal gutter she'd emerged from a remarkably short time earlier. Her skin crawled at the memory, and she scrubbed her hands over her arms where she swore she could still feel the silk of the web adhering there in the same manner the substance had clung to the feathers.

Her action drew Teddy's attention, and she froze for a fraction of a second before casually – she hoped - dropping her hands to her side. His concern spurred an inkling of guilt somewhere deep within her.

_Another something she couldn't quite explain._

They neared the market; muggle money in Micah's hand and list in Phineas'. The previous week, the second floor residents had shopped while their group had cooked. The results hadn't been pretty or entirely edible. With the doors in sight, the group rallied in their intention to treat the current week's task as a chance to recoup their reputation as functional members of society.

Any society.

_Seriously, millions of muggles did these things everyday without magic, it simply couldn't be as difficult as they were making it._

Gesturing for them to proceed to the market, Andy bought a cup of tea and a muggle newspaper before he took up a seat on the bench outside. Diogy curled up at his feet. They looked to be settling in for a while.

Not having an opinion on much that morning, Victoire left the debate over the ripeness of the fruit and the resulting innuendos to her house mates. She slipped past the group and idly walked around on her own before finding herself in an aisle filled with potions, or, rather, the muggle equivalent to healing potions. She scanned the labels, surveying the symptoms neatly enumerated on the small boxes and bottles. Muggle remedies came in a dizzying array of options. No direct apothecary interaction required. No other person varying a standard brew based on what they determined you needed. Muggles chose on their own- without having to express every detail of what they were experiencing to a potential stranger, or worse, an old school friend of a parent.

_Very liberating._

She strolled down the aisle at a pensioner's pace. Her mind matched the indications on each box with an equivalent Newt potion as she went. She finally turned, intending to chase the group she heard laughing close to the front of the store, when she noticed a box with a moon and star motif. _Sleeping drought_. She paused. There was an entire column of boxes for sleep ailments.

He found her staring at them when he rounded the end of the aisle. She took a half step back, feeling like a fawn caught in the open without its mother. Teddy came up short as well, clearing his throat before speaking, "You get everything you needed?" His eyes raked down the aisle before falling again on her and settling in an inscrutable inspection of her features.

"Wasn't anything in particular I needed," she faltered.

A call from the front of the store brought them both up short, spurring the pair into action. Teddy motioned for her to proceed him out of the aisle. Victoire sensed him checking up on her during the walk back and the subsequent unloading of the groceries. She didn't owe anyone an explanation - didn't even have one - regarding her recent activities. She knew that. She still felt _deceptive_, somehow; like she should share that she was admittedly attracted to another man and that, in a way, it felt like betrayal.

She said nothing. About anything.

Instead, she escaped back to her room, probably sooner than she should've, but in reality, she hadn't been much help anyway. She dropped to her bed without bothering to remove her shoes; a sure sign she was done. The quick nap she caught before meeting Phineas and Micah on the roof made her feel slightly human. She would have loved to lie about all day, but the three had an extracurricular project that weekend. They intended to make the adjacent roof space usable - a private commons. Each had their own reasons for wanting the extra space, but all were equally committed to making it happen.

Having volunteered some furnishings from the boat, Victoire led the mission to the coast that afternoon to retrieve them. The plan was a double score for Victoire. She needed to get the furniture off the decks, which were due to be refinished, and the act of moving the stuff counted toward fulfilment of her promise to work on the boat every weekend.

Fairies were sticklers for promises.

Victoire insisted on muggle transportation for the deck furniture. She shuddered at the thought of another rug incident and refused to be convinced that nothing could go wrong sending things magically to the neighbouring roof. Maybe muggle immersion living was taking its toll or maybe her inability to control herself was wearing her confidence; either way, she no longer took for granted that things would simply work as she assumed they should.

In the end, Micah came through with something she called a big bob van, and the three were busy stacking the items on the dock in preparation to be delivered.

Victoire looked over the sun-bleached wood of the boat's bow as she grabbed a pair of chair cushions to add to the growing pile. A figure at the edge of the dock caught her attention. Her armload faltered. The solid frame of the observer was not unlike many men she had seen moving gear around the boats, but the shoulders, angled slightly by his stance in a way that was as unique as it was familiar, set his outline apart from those making their way past the weathered post on the pier where he stood. She dumped everything she held onto a nearby tarp, called out to Micah and Phineas before she left, and jumped from the boat.

Long quick strides carried her halfway there. He made no move to meet her. Each subsequent stride slowed in response before she stopped short, leaving a distance of both their arm's length between them and failing on what exactly to say.

He may have waited for her to reach to him, but he didn't wait for her to speak.

"You set Dorothy on me."

"She was worried about you," Victoire accused. She ducked his steady grey gaze, glancing instead at a buoy serving as perch for a seabird - its gaze intent solely on the prospects for a midday meal.

"She said _you_ were worried." His voice carried past her in the breeze.

"You didn't say goodbye." She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin lifted slightly as she cut her eyes back to him.

Owen appeared as though he wanted to be comfortable with her concern, but hadn't quite determined how or even if he should. After a few beats he shook his head, nodding it back against the post behind him twice before coming back straight with a nervous chuckle. "I don't know anyone else who'd attempt indignant with a kitty plastered across their chest."

Victoire looked down at her shirt and uncrossed her arms. The hair restrained in her ponytail thrashed her shoulders and the strands that had worked their way loose whipped at her cheeks and neck in the salty breeze. She attempted to stick a flyaway behind her ear, weighing whether she should retort the kitty comment or say what she really wanted. Truth be told, the urge to hug him for being there while simultaneously throttling him for scaring her with an abrupt departure outweighed anything she could say at that moment.

She managed none of the above, however, as a mountain of a man with a mop of red hair approached them.

"Hi, I'm Bob," he held out a massive hand, greeting each in turn and nodding amicably the whole time. "You know, short for Robert."

Owen and Victoire replied in unison, "Hi, Bob," before giving each other a quick, curious glance.

"Micah said you needed a van," Bob added, still nodding.

"Oh," Victoire exclaimed. A 'big bob van' was, in fact, a_ very _big Bob _with a_ van. She really needed to start listening more closely."Let's see if we can find Micah, shall we?" Victoire offered, casting Owen another quick glance. She knew he couldn't have any idea why Bob was needed, but surely he could tell that they couldn't very well send Big-Muggle-Bob-Short-For-Robert toward a disillusioned boat.

_What was Micah thinking having him show up here?_ Victoire screamed in her head, annoyed more at the interruption than the inconvenience. Her answer appeared in the form of a furry, four-legged early-warning-system, barking and bounding down the dock with Micah close behind.

Micah remained her usual unruffled self, rewarding Diogy with a treat for a job well done before she commenced directing activities with a confidence that had everyone acting without overly questioning anything they were doing. Her cover story about the boat leaving early, thus explaining the empty slip beyond the pile of deck furniture, flowed effortlessly from her lips and managed to do the trick with Bob. He and Owen spent the next hour helping them load the van.

Bob was as good-natured and strong as he was big. Micah and Owen lightened their loads with covert charms, but Bob carried as much or more without the benefit of magic. For the first few loads, Victoire and Phineas hung back to bring out sun umbrellas and the remainder of things they were taking from the boat's interior. Bob never questioned the fact that the pile to be loaded remained essentially the same for quite some time.

Phineas pulled Micah back when they were midway through the loading process and whispered rather loudly, "Are you altering that boy's memory?"

Victoire sensed Owen stiffen beside her.

"He's older than you are, Fin," Micah returned easily. "And, believe me, his obliviousness is neither an accident nor an incident of spell work." She surveyed the group before casting a glance at Bob, now halfway down the dock. "Give me a little credit, OK? Any man who feels the need _to tell me_ Bob is short for Robert can't be too hard to outsmart."

Victoire giggled. _Apparently, that was Bob's big opener_.

She glanced at Owen, to see if he caught that as well, only to find him with the same near frown that had been pulling his features since his return. Her amused smile dropped as she felt completely at a loss; she wished she knew what he was thinking.

_Or, maybe, she wished she didn't know what he was thinking about._

With an affectionate glace at Bob as he ambled toward his van, Micah said, "He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's _real sweet_, and he can lift heavy things."

Phineas merely shook his head before he picked up a pair of chairs to load without comment and, Victoire noted, without a charm.

She hesitated to follow Phineas and Micah, holding Owen back when he reached for a stack of torches. He looked at her hand on his arm, then at her and cocked his head.

"Before," she faltered, "I, ah, wanted to say … I'm sorry… about, um, the wand…"

He stepped up and pulled her in before she could struggle with more awkward fragments. She'd remember that hug as the only tentative thing she'd ever known him to do, and she expected the release when he let her go directly.

"You were worried," he stated, still testing the sound of it in his own ears.

She stepped to the rail. "Thought there was nothing left to keep you here," she replied, contemplating the waves for a few beats before turning back.

"Never been that much to keep me anywhere." His eyes held the hint of a warning.

Not knowing why, she nodded in response. The gesture felt appropriate, and Owen seemed relieved by it; with an exhale, his expression settled into a shade of his usual casualness. Turning to the pile, he reached for a pair of cushions and tossed them to her.

A few more trips down the weathered dock and they were done. Owen headed back to his hotel, after promising – three times - to be there the following day when Victoire could drop by, and Victoire found herself in the van with Micah and Phineas. How Micah talked Bob into leaving his vehicle in their hands was a mystery to Victoire, but there he remained, content to wait in the nearby pub for its return. His main concern had not been for the safety of the vehicle, little did he know that two witches and a wizard didn't equal one muggle driver. No, Bob merely asked if they'd have enough help to unload.

Halfway to the immersion house, Victoire wondered if she could Apparate from a moving vehicle. She didn't care if she was the reason they were on their current path - when she said _muggle means_ she expected it to be by muggles. She never intended to take an active part in it. Feeling impatient and slightly fevered, something she related to lack of sleep and mental exertion, had become standard for her recently. Her concern for Owen added a layer of agitation that was new and, most assuredly, not helpful in maintaining her fragile equilibrium. Motor fumes and Micah's driving threatened to pull her over the edge.

Micah substantiated her claim that she could manage the vehicle she was in, although she remained iffy on the details of where and when she learned to drive. Her relationship with other vehicles on the road, however, proved problematic. She tended to choose the wrong lane in relation to the muggle drivers, and you didn't need to be muggle born to interpret the hand gestures they were getting; those sentiments were universal. Victoire had no idea how Micah could possibly justify muttering about_ everyone else_ being on the wrong side of the road.

They simply couldn't get to the house fast enough for Victoire, but it appeared Phineas had reservations as he abandoned the map he'd been studying and concentrated fully on the roadway they travelled. "You're exceeding the recommended speed _by a large margin_," he informed Micah with real concern.

"Must be a metric thing," Micah returned, darting a glance down at the various dials surrounding the steering column for perhaps the first time since she turned the ignition.

"You need to stop saying that. Its neither an excuse nor or a plausible explanation," Phineas lectured before shaking he head. "I still cannot believe you got anyone to buy it for last week's mince pie. Its not logical. There's no conversion factor; not then, not now - the signs are posted in the same measurement increments as the gauge." He waved the map in the direction of the speedometer.

Victoire slumped down as far as her shoulder restraint would allow and dropped her head to her hands. She would gladly have eaten last week's wretched salt lick of a meal - twice over even - to be out of that van right then. The remainder of that discussion, the following academic debate over best route, and the drive itself washed over Victoire's bent head. She didn't lift up until she heard the absence of the engine and felt the vehicle still entirely.

* * *

_The surest way to learn to appreciate what you have is to go without it._ Victoire couldn't recall where that piece of wisdom originated in her subconscious, but unloading the van with the full extent of their magic brought it back to mind. In a fraction of the time and with minimal effort, the roof was littered with the furnishings from the boat. The van ride was a repressed memory, and some well placed silencing charms had them in their own space without a care of disturbing their muggle neighbours, whose roof they were blatantly trespassing.

"This is an abundance of stuff," Phineas commented at the disorganized mess. He looked at the girls, "You're not planning any big parties up here, are you?" His forehead creased slightly at the thought of his quiet, open air study retreat being offered to the general public.

"Don't worry, Fin," Micah assured, "The only person I intend to share this with is Diogy. The yards in this neighbourhood are a joke, and he's not used to being cooped up."

Victoire felt a slight twitch of guilt, especially in light of Phineas' relieved expression. "I, umm, only told Teddy."

"You told Teddy about the roof?" Micah asked, suddenly more concerned than Phineas.

"Umm, yes," Victoire replied in a small voice.

"Oh, darlin'." Micah sighed with a slight shake of her head, surveying Victoire as if diagnosing the symptoms of an illness. "You truly have no sense of self preservation, do you?"

Victoire briefly met both their gazes across the mass of furnishings before focusing on a haphazard stack of cushions which were threatening to topple themselves. "You know, he's been my best friend all my life. It's difficult not to tell him things," she retorted.

"Did you also tell him you're still in love with him?" That earned Micah a hurt look from Victoire and a sharp look from Phineas.

"I did not. I am not," Victoire countered quickly, tracking Micah with suspicion as she moved lithely around the maze of items without so much as disturbing the precarious balance of cushions.

Micah shook her head again as she approached Victoire for a hug. "Your heart's too big for the real world, you know that?"

Not sure how to take that, Victoire half shrugged and glanced at Phineas, who was actively avoiding looking directly at the scene. "I'm sorry, Fin. I won't tell anyone else."

Phineas looked back quickly and replied, "Teddy's fine. Owen, too. I don't want to dictate-"

"No, you're not," Victoire interjected. "I forgot about Owen…he kind of knows already, but, that's all. Really." She hesitated for a second, realizing that, with Sara gone, those four were the only people she would call friends. _Such a small group; you'd think she could keep up with them better. _

Micah squeezed Victoire's shoulder before she returned to sorting. "I reckon it'll all work out fine." She levitated some lounge chairs to the sunniest spot. "It's all good on the roof," she reassured as she continued to flip the chairs around in the air with rhythmic, dancelike motions until she appeared satisfied with the arrangement; at which time, they dropped obediently into formation. "Or, shall we call it the penthouse?"

"I think Vic has the penthouse, so this would be more like the courtyard," Teddy's resonant voice preceded him through the window.

Victoire felt everyone's gaze on her as she stepped around the lounge chairs and approached Teddy. "Hi, welcome to our urban retreat."

"This is great," he said, walking around the perimeter and taking it all in. The disorganized mess was quickly sorting itself out as wands waved and items arranged themselves. The roof, previously flat barring the brick facade that defined three of its borders and the knee-high ledge of the fourth that provided access from the fire escape, took shape before their eyes. Table and chairs with an umbrella set up on one side, loungers rested in the sunny middle, and Micah had even conjured a small pool, presumably for the dog, toward the back corner of the remaining side. "Can't believe all the stuff you've got out here."

"From my boat," Victoire explained, completely conflicted on how she felt having him there. _Unable to withhold this - a shared secret - from him, you'd think she'd be able to tell him she had a simple date coming up._ "I needed to store it anyway, so this works out well."

"_Your_ boat?" Teddy stopped short.

"You know about this place, but you don't know about the boat?" Micah looked between Victoire and Teddy with her gaze resting on Victoire.

Teddy didn't allow for an answer to Micah's question. "Wait. The boat they all talk about is yours." He looked to Victoire. "When did_ you_ get a boat?"

"I bought it a year ago and, as is their custom, the whole family has taken over. It's really developed a life of its own." Victoire dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. When she caught Teddy's disbelieving look, her nerves, already on edge, bristled. "Things happened while you were gone," she added a bit more strongly than she intended, especially when combined with the hands she realized had made their way to her hips.

Teddy cocked his head, eyes wary. "Erm, yeah. I mean, that's not quite fair." He shifted his weight. "I know that. Its…I don't see you father going for it. Not at your age-"

"I'm not sixteen anymore." She was all in now. She brought a hand up, pointing one finger. "I made a convincing argument." Two fingers. "I had the money." Three fingers. "And I had just made Head Girl. Something else you might've known - had you thought to ask." Hands back on hips. "So, yeah, I got my boat."

Teddy rallied, "Look, I didn't say you weren't mature." He held his hands up in front of himself. "I remember you talking about boats when we were kids. Didn't know you still thought about them."

He dropped his hands only after she dropped hers with an exhale and a glance down at her trainers and back to him.

"Honestly," he continued deliberately, "I'm gobsmacked Bill would go for it. I think it's great, though. I'd love to see it sometime," he finished with a warm smile.

_How did he manage to turn things around so easily? _Feeling slightly absurd for her outburst, she replied softly, "Sometime," before diverting her gaze to what remained of the pile of furnishings. "Why bring the owl cage?" She changed the subject, grabbing the ring topping the dome of the wrought iron cage and lifting it away from the stack of torches on which it perched.

Phineas and Micah shared a look before Micah spoke, "We know you keep an owl in your room. Half the house knows from movin' the rug."

"Moving the bird to the roof will keep you in compliance with the house code," Phineas added, stepping up behind Micah and, in essence, talking over her head. "Allowing you proximity, but saving you the repercussions of someone reporting a magical pet in the house."

_Gidget_.

The tale of Gidget was one of those stories in school that everyone knew, but not really. Unable to keep it from her dormitory mates and, therefore, unable to keep it from the student body in general, the tale spread in the form of a warning: _domestic owls are not singularly suited for crossing oceans, so its best not to risk a common owl when specialized species are available for such needs. _She never thought it would follow her here where there was no one to be bothered by an open window at night. She thought there'd be no explanations required.

Of course, she never thought the tale would follow her to Hogsmeade either. Never thought that Hufflepuff would twist it into something different and wrong. No one anticipated the chain of events set in motion by_ that_ tale.

Victoire drew in a deep breath. "If Gidget shows up, I'd gladly accept any repercussions. I've been waiting a long time for her," she said with quiet conviction.

Micah puzzled the meaning of Victoire's admission, but the wheels were turning for Phineas. Victoire saw recognition dawn in the widening of his eyes and the silent 'oh' emitted from his mouth before he cast her an apologetic look.

"You really are a hopeless romantic," Micah commented softly, having reached her own conclusion.

"No," Phineas corrected her. Micah swivelled her head to glance back over her shoulder, following Victoire's gaze which trained on Phineas as well. "Hopeful romantic," he asserted. "A hopeless romantic wouldn't think to leave the window open."

Micah's nod of concession was lost on Victoire, however, whose attention focussed on the one person on that roof who hadn't yet commented. _Gidget was not a topic she intended to broach with Teddy_. She quickly launched an offensive diversion: "Did you know Owen was back?"

Teddy, about to speak, hesitated a fraction of a second, processing the change of topic. "You heard from him?"

She nodded, sweeping her arm toward Micah and Phineas. "We saw him."

Teddy looked like he didn't believe her, and he might not have without Micah and Phineas right there to back her up. Needless to say, she had Teddy sufficiently diverted, bordering on shocked.

Micah and Phineas discretely left to the vicinity of the pool and began discussing the requirements of conjuring a fire pit.

"Is he good?" Teddy asked.

"Not entirely."

Teddy's brows drew together, and he stepped close to Victoire, searching her face. "Why'd he come back, then?"

"Dorothy was worried."

"Dorothy at work?" His head shook its own response. "That makes no sense."

Teddy knew Owen the best, and Victoire counted on him to do what needed to be done for Owen – whatever that might be. "He can't simply give up," she insisted. "There's something we missed; there has to be."

His eyes focussed again on hers, his scepticism now tinged with a touch of wonder.

"I'm sorry about Gidget."

_Damn._

"You want to talk about it?"

_Sure, let's see, where to begin …_

_Did you ever receive that last letter she carried? The one going on about how I'd saved enough to visit you on holiday. Together. _

_Think she passed your last owl on her way out of town? _

_Hell, no_. She didn't want to talk about it.

"Already have. Long time ago," she answered without inflection.

A frown etched his features and he looked…disappointed. She tried to determine exactly what reflected in his eyes; they appeared a little lost, but that could be a trick of the light against their colour.

"You probably should talk to Owen," she offered.

* * *

Victoire climbed in from the fire escape and nearly dropped the unwieldy volume Phineas had loaned her, _Animagi of the Middle Ages,_ as she closed the window behind her. She caught it at the last second, but froze for a moment, worried that she had managed to mark up the antique, which took up an entire tabletop when opened with its bold gothic script and detailed artwork. No discernable damage done, but she decided to return it immediately rather than risk doing anything else to threaten the well preserved but obviously ancient binding. She doubted she could fit a book its size in her room anyway, and in all honestly, she didn't relish the dusty, musty smell of its pages currently invading her senses in the closed space of the stairwell.

The sounds of movement and the murmur of conversation below indicated that Micah and Phineas were back from returning the van so she took the few steps down. The door to the third floor landing was cracked open a hair when she got there, poised with her free hand on the knob. Micah and Phineas weren't the only ones home, and the topic of conversation halted her in her tracks the moment the words became clear.

"You understand its not something you'll be sharing with Iska, right?" The voice was Micah's. The question delivered in conversational tone.

"What do you mean by that?" Teddy shot back, his voice preceding his footsteps across the landing to Phineas and Micah's suite.

"I mean: that roof's not a place for her so please refrain from sharing," Micah reiterated from the vicinity of her doorway.

"Are you telling me to keep things from my girlfriend?" Teddy's voice was incredulous.

"I'm telling you to keep this from your girlfriend."

"I don't keep things from Iska."

"Really?" Micah's voice held a challenge. "You tell Iska you bring Vic tea to class every morning? Always a different flavour, so it's a surprise, and always waiting at the chair next to you."

Victoire caught the sound of Phineas' voice next – muffled – likely from the interior of the room, giving a warning, "Micah."

Micah remained undeterred, her speech picking up momentum. "Sure, tell your little girlfriend all about the notes you write in Vic's margins. While your at it, be sure to mention that you pay more attention to the men noticin' her than she does. Go, share all you want, but, let me be very clear, Iska should not be invited to the roof."

Victoire knew it was coming. Micah didn't back down when she chose to push a point. Teddy didn't like corners or being pushed.

"What the hell do you have against Iska?" he exploded.

Victoire winced despite the buffer of the door and the fact that she'd anticipated it. Diogy reacted. His nails clinked on the wood floors as he must have jumped up from whatever spot of floor he'd been occupying, letting out a low, warning growl.

"Down boy," Micah returned immediately, not sounding the least bit intimidated by the anger she'd provoked from Teddy. "She reminds me a lot of my mother. I don't get along well with my mother."

Diogy padded around the floor, likely still on edge. His footsteps were muted, but the floor creaking below them gave away his movements.

"I don't see you getting along well with anyone," Teddy accused in a tight voice. Victoire suspected he was trying to regain his composure. Teddy didn't like showing his anger any more than he liked being pushed into corners.

"I could debate that point with you," Micah sounded amused, "but I'd rather discuss why you're ignoring everything else I said."

Victoire was so caught up envisioning them beyond the door, she'd lost track of the dog until a wet nose appeared through the crack, threatening to still her heart completely. She clasped her hand over her mouth before giving Diogy a quick scratch between the eyes lightly pushing his big head back through the gap with the same motion. She waved her hand for him to move away, mouthed a silent 'go lay down', and closed the door swiftly, retreating back to her room and hoping the dog didn't give away her eavesdropping.

The day had started with guilt, and the day was going to end with guilt. Guilt and a massive, musty book she now had to find a spot for. _Lovely_.

She opened her window all the way that night when she replaced the water bowl on the sill.

"Goodnight Gidget."


	12. The Politics of Petting

**Chapter 12: The Politics of Petting**

"Whyyyyy?"

"Its a snidget, love."

"But- but -why can't I keeps him, Mummy? I saved him."

"Because the Ministry protects them; anyone found with one is in for a fair lot of trouble. We have enough of that as it is."

"You're not gonna put him outsides? Its thunder booming and – and – he's not even awake!"

The alarm in the high pitched wail streamed into Victoire's hazy conscious. She'd been dreaming about sleeping soundly, warm and comfortable for once, but suddenly she was shaken and … squished. The warm world closed around her, trapping her in the dark where the only clear sense she had was a strong smell of damp wool and… _peanut butter?_

"Wren, please, the storm's passed. Let me set it back on the branch where you found it. Birds are supposed to be outside."

"Listen to your mother, moppet," a gravelly male voice sounded from somewhere behind and below Victoire. She tried to turn toward it but discovered her movements were hindered. She found herself pinned down, surrounded by something scratchy and beginning to panic.

"He's awake!"

The excited scream rocked her head. Bird ears were not comfortably built for squeals.

The world swung around, and in a flash of light, Victoire detected the inside of a small cottage before coming eye to eye with a large brown eye. Her head was being pushed back rhythmically in what she could only assume was petting.

"Hullo, Goldy Featherkins."

_Oh, sweet Merlin, her near future consisted of a box with holes punched in it, she just knew it._

She shrunk back as best she could, wishing she saw more than eyelashes and a smattering of freckles – preferably, how many people were in the vicinity. The more awake she became, the faster her heartbeat and thoughts raced. Every instinct screamed to flee but she fought to control the animal in her. Panicked instincts were the type to send one thudding into a window pane.

_Think, Victoire, think_, she chanted to herself, trying to focus. She didn't know if they were muggles, if she should transform, if she should try to fly away… or if she should activate her mark, summoning everyone to her rescue.

_Head hurts._

The petting was not helpful. Never in her life had she questioned whether petting was appreciated. She _so_ did not appreciate the petting at that moment; found it rather oppressive, in all honesty. If she survived her current predicament, she vowed not to inflict the same indignity on any animal in the future without securing permission first.

_Wait, did muggles know snidgets?_

Victoire swivelled her head as much as possible, while avoiding being blinded by exuberant strokes, to see what she could of her surroundings . Her right leg, awkwardly positioned between small fingers, began to throb. The room smelled and sounded like outside; cold air moved around it, but the girl's scratchy sweater remained warm on the outside, suggesting the cold was introduced into the room only shortly before.

Between swipes of the palm not clutching her, Victoire located the source of the male voice. A man who looked to be in his early thirties pulled himself up from a hatch in the floor and closed it behind him. A spattering of water drops darkened his clothes.

"Time to leave the tree house. Lets go home; have breakfast before I need to leave for work. We'll leave the snidget in the crook of the support branch. He'll be sheltered until he can be on his way."

Victoire was squeezed so tight she let out a loud chirp. _Squeezing was so much worse than_ _petting._

"Wren, please give him to me," her mother pleaded, "He could be diseased. What if he bites you?"

As the one being unjustly squeezed, Victoire felt a little offended to be labelled the bad guy. Little-girl-iron-grip was the aggressor in this scenario; a simple 'don't hurt the birdie' would not have been out of line.

The woman's hand – long, slender, and marked by the slightly raised skin of an old scar – approached slowly in the periphery of Victoire's vision. The girl skirted to the other side of the room and ducked behind a tree trunk. The move provided Victoire a full view of the interior which was constructed around the trunk of a large tree. The child-scale furnishings had been crafted from logs and branches; the walls covered with brightly coloured murals painted with a child's hand. Out the windows, Victoire could see the structure situated slightly below the leafy canopy of the forest.

Victoire concentrated on stilling the instinct to flail out of the girl's grip, hoping that the adults would resolve her dilemma quickly. She really wanted to avoid escalating the situation with a transformation that would likely send them to their wands, plainly visible from the new angle, or worse, a summons that would bring her family into the situation and require an explanation as to how she allowed herself to become a child's toy.

"I needs him." More squeezing. "I'm all alone-ly when you go," the little girl said in what started out as an accusation but ended in a disappointed pout.

A survey of the parents left Victoire wondering which tone hit them the hardest. For her part, Victoire's heart went out to the girl despite the vice grip that would leave several feathers crimped until she moulted.

"Its one night a month, sweetheart," her mother said softly while her father closed his eyes and wearily rubbed his neck.

"Its not fair!" A full pout marked her round face and she dramatically moved Victoire to her heart. "I loves him so much!"

The new position was only slightly less uncomfortable for Victoire.

"You're right, moppet," her father said, approaching her. "Its not fair. I'm sorry." He kissed her head and slid his big hands over the girl's tiny ones, effectively caging Victoire and slipping her into his calloused palms. Her one leg dangled slightly; not precisely responding to her efforts to control its movements.

The panic remained, but Victoire held herself in, drawing courage from the hope that he would liberate her without further damage.

The little girl turned and headed out the trap door, lips quivering. Her mother sighed and whispered, "I'll talk to her. You know the storm made everything worse." She reached to the man and rubbed his shoulders. "She'll be over it tomorrow."

He nodded, his features relaxing slightly but the shadow of fatigue remained around his eyes. He surveyed Victoire. "Bird like this _would_ command a handsome price on Knockturn."

"Don't even think about it!" The woman smacked one of the shoulders she'd been rubbing.

"I wasn't." He looked into Victoire's red bird eyes and added, "That hard."

The woman dismissed his comment with a shake of her head and an exhale that sounded partly amused. Her eyes, however, remained serious as she surveyed him, her gaze roaming his features. "You can't work today. You need at least a day of recovery-"

"Can't afford that right now," he replied meeting her eyes straight on for a moment before moving to the trap door and holding it open for her to descend.

The man stopped halfway down the rope ladder and nested Victoire carefully in a crook of the branches below the tree house as Wren and her mother watched from below. Although Victoire knew the house was there, it had become invisible as soon as they passed the trap door. When the man joined the rest of his family on the ground, the ladder rolled itself up into the thin air that was the structure above them all.

The little girl, Wren, called up to Victoire's perch, "Come back next month, promise?"

Victoire watched the family Apparate home, viewing the tree now for what it was – a fortress to protect a child when even proximity to her parents posed a danger to her.

_Why didn't they have anyone to help them?_

_

* * *

_

There was a thin line between late-for-lecture and best-not-show-up. Victoire tread that line more days than not, despite her best efforts. Her shaky start to that morning had her human self skipping the house entirely, summoning her class things in mid-route, and thanking her lucky stars that she'd fallen asleep in her clothes from the previous day.

Her leg was dead weight for the trip out of the woods surrounding Bimas to the campus itself, but the speed required to get her to lecture on time improved the circulation issues greatly. The sensation of pins and needles ran the length of her leg during the slightly hobbled sprint to the lecture room. The pavements were slick with the recent rain, which didn't help matters, but she managed to control her skids. Once in the building, she was grateful to have the halls virtually to herself as the concerns of maintaining the day's schedule overtook the bizarre events she didn't want to ponder too deeply.

She wondered if all freaks learned to balance their issues with everyday life so easily or if she were merely gifted at absorbing the abnormal and packaging it off to deep, dark places.

Victoire skidded into the lecture hall to find the day's speaker, a goblin famed for his work with magical metal, also running late. She would have considered it a fortunate coincidence, if the delay hadn't provided the opportunity for Micah to turn in her seat, eyebrows raised, and survey Victoire's attire with a pointed look.

"I thought your date was tomorrow night?"

"It is," Victoire replied tentatively, thinking that it might have been better to have been caught in her pyjamas. She feared where Micah was going with that question and was scared that Teddy could hear, even though he'd been sitting at a distance that week and had suspended his trips to the tea cart entirely.

Victoire had pretended not to notice.

Although, she had been slightly relieved. Had he been sitting next to her, she wouldn't have had any reason not to tell him about Nico. As it happened, a convenient opportunity never presented itself.

Victoire had the sinking feeling that the opportunity might have arrived, and it could not have been less convenient.

"Anything you want to share, then?" Micah asked, her voice slightly lower on the second question as her own glance fleeted two seats over and one back to Teddy, who appeared to be having a question repeated to him by the boy sitting at his side.

"No, erm, nothing really to share; some slight insomnia, uh, type nothing." _Clearly, the run in hadn't improved the circulation to her brain._

Micah's look was dubious, but much to Victoire's relief, she didn't push further. "If you say so." She turned to her bag and produced an apple which she handed to Victoire. "Here, take this. Looks like you need it more than I do."

Victoire didn't remember much from the lecture - the goblin's speech ran more to talking about how clever he was than to imparting any useful knowledge to his captive audience - but the apple was quite good. They were close to the end when a note arrived at Micah's desk. She paled and slipped out of class like a ghost, leaving Victoire to wonder what else had gone wrong that morning.

Victoire wasted not time as the lecture ended. She headed straight back to the immersion house as the goblin's last words still echoed through the lecture hall. When she discovered the roof and the third floor empty upon her arrival, she continued down the stairs, searching the remainder of the house and finally coming upon Micah down in the kitchen with Phineas.

"Fin, this isn't the first time the glutton's done something like this," Micah said as Victoire came through the door. They were across the room in front of the open pantry door; so involved in their discussion that they didn't appear to notice Victoire's arrival at all.

"I'm telling you," Micah stressed as she closed the pantry with one hand and heaved the remains of a dog food bag into a nearby bin with the other, "given the chance he'd go right back in there and polish off another bag right now." Looking down, Micah continued, "You never learn, do you babes?"

Victoire hadn't noticed the dog until she had rounded the table and followed Micah's line of eyesight. Laid out on the tiles in the middle of the floor, Diogy responded to Micah with a pitiful look and a slight moan.

Micah secured the top of the bin as she continued, "What he needs is to process - literally. That's not a pleasant thing to witness. I'll make him a bed in the yard ..."

"You can't leave him outside," Phineas insisted. He could not have looked more scandalized.

"Well, yeah." Micah moved to open the door to the back yard. "Its best for all parties involved. I'm telling you, he's going to pollute the air for days. He won't be any more comfortable inside. You can't really make him comfortable. You can't speed up the results. It just has to happen, and it _needs_ to happen _outside_."

Fin stared at her like she was heartless. He kneeled down by Diogy and began rubbing the dog's tummy, earning himself a grateful look from the dog and an eye roll from Micah.

Victoire felt bad for Diogy - poor dog probably thought he'd gone to heaven, finding the pantry wide open, only to land himself in gastronomic purgatory - but she was mostly relieved that the emergency pulling Micah out of class was an overprotective Phineas rather than a family tragedy or some other sort.

Having remained unnoticed, she opted to slip back up the stairs. Micah and Phineas had developed their own dynamic for resolving their differing ideologies, and Victoire was not about to get between them on any care of non-magical creatures debate.

Victoire's thoughts turned to care of magical creatures. She headed upstairs to shower and assess her damage from the night. She had her independent study lab with Phineas that afternoon - if he showed for it. Victoire wouldn't be surprised if he cancelled to stand watch over Diogy, protecting the dog from Micah's tough love approach.

Victoire would've been happy to skip and take a nap. No such luck, though. She heard Micah's voice as she grabbed her bag and left her room nearly an hour later.

"He's _my dog_, Fin. I can take care of him!"

Heading halfway down the stairs, Victoire peeked out the open window to the roof across the fire escape. The compromise they had reached had the dog outside on the roof rather than the back yard. Shield charms protected the majority of the area from the rain that would likely continue on and off all day. Diogy sprawled on a patch of grass surrounding the pool Micah had conjured for him the day they moved everything to the roof. Micah and Phineas faced off over him.

Micah had apparently drawn the boundaries with the co-parenting.

Phineas broke the stare first, casting the dog a look and wisely opting not to push any more. He turned with a curt nod and grabbed his book bag. Victoire caught Micah in a relieved exhale when she turned to wave goodbye before following Phineas' Apparition to campus.

Having sprinted the route once that day, Victoire didn't bother trying to keep pace with Phineas' long strides on the still slick pavement. She caught up with him in the small, startlingly white lab room they had been assigned for their independent study, its door distinguished by a bold six painted in black. The room was unadorned; the door opened in the middle of one wall, the opposite wall held a large chalkboard, on the left wall an array of cabinets stretched from floor to ceiling, a worktable set dead in the middle of the space, and a counter with two stools tucked neatly underneath ran the length of the right wall to serve as desk space.

Phineas might have been physically there, but the presence of mind which usually defined his every action wasn't.

Victoire hovered in the doorway watching him move about the interior, his features cast in a look of stubborn concentration. His motions, however, lacked their usual focus. Where Phineas habitually moved with great economy, his every action efficient and directed in a manner Victoire envied, that day he appeared directionless. He moved a great deal of things around without accomplishing much.

Victoire recognized the behaviour because she was prone to it. She had no idea how to interpret it in Phineas. She found herself wanting to fill the silence, wondering what she could do to take his mind off what might be going on over at the roof. Suddenly, she was struck with a thought.

_A brilliant, awful thought._

She wondered if she could take advantage of his distraction and get some information from him. Phineas was normally quite reserved in sharing his opinions on people unless they were positive. It occurred to her that she had never heard his thoughts on Iska.

She casually walked over to the worktable and pushed down one of the trays of a potion scale sitting atop its surface, bringing the other up with the motion. "So, you seen a lot of Teddy and Iska lately?"

Phineas halted his current mission of rifling through the supply cabinets to peer back over his shoulder at her.

_Apparently, acting casual didn't make a completely un-casual question any less obvious._

"Not really," he answered. "She comes 'round but usually has something planned for them. I think sometimes he'd rather stay in, but they mostly go." The act of talking seemed to orient him. "Right, we were to take blood samples today and possibly document the transformation." He returned to the cabinets with slightly more determination.

"Doesn't that seem a little heavy handed?" Victoire asked as she hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging her legs underneath and back.

Phineas stood and turned, empty handed, from where he had been searching a lower cabinet. "I thought you said blood samples were acceptable-"

"Oh, not the samples, I'm fine with that," Victoire assured, not having expected the sudden concern in his expression. "Got quite used to it, actually, during my stay at _Hotel Mungos_. I'm talking about the way she dictates everything they do."

Phineas blinked before responding. "I didn't say anything of the kind," he stated, appearing offended by the mere suggestion he would say anything even hinting at that kind.

Victoire shrugged. "What else would you call it?" She pressed on: "And, all the new clothes. Like he isn't good enough in his real clothes."

"They are his real clothes," Phineas pointed out, enunciating every word for her.

"They're the clothes she bought for him," Victoire responded, pointing at the bewildered boy as if she had provided him the case breaking clue.

Phineas was lost for words, but his look fairly screamed, _So what_?

"Teddy once paid James five sickles to wear his new trainers for a week and break them in," Victoire explained in a huff.

Phineas took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Generosity is not a sin. If she wants to buy him clothes, what's wrong with that?"

"Its so.. so territorial.. so aggressive," Victoire said, finally settling on the terms she wanted. "She acts like he's one big accessory."

"Its aggressive you're upset about?" Phineas challenged before he turned back to the cabinets. "Micah's aggressive, you know. You choose not to see that because it works in your favour and you're not threatened by her," he said with his back to her.

"I'm not threatened," Victoire said, jumping down from her seat on the counter and flicking the arm of the scale as she passed it on her way over to him. The metallic tink echoed around the stark, windowless room followed by the clinking of its chains as the tray rocked around. "A person can point out when another person is with someone who is not their type."

"That's not your call," Phineas corrected from behind an upper cabinet door. "Somehow, assertiveness evolved as a positive trait for men and yet – same behaviour from a woman - the sure sign of bitch." He closed the cabinet door, meeting her eyes as he concluded his lecture. "And, its primarily women you see propagating that stereotype."

Not having a sufficient response, Victoire shut up, sparing him one last petulant gaze.

_Well, at least she succeeded in taking his mind off the dog._

Neither spoke as Phineas activated the recording orb to document the blood samples he was taking. Victoire then dug around in her bag for some hair she had pulled from her brush and some feathers she had found around her room. Those feathers had given her the only clue she had as to what was going on with her lately; at least she knew the transformation was happening in her room. She guessed from there her snidget self flew out the window she left open for Gidget. What caused the transformation as well as what happened outside the window remained a mystery.

"Lets save documenting the transformation for our next session," Phineas suggested.

Victoire was more than happy to agree, nodding and gathering up supplies. Phineas finished packaging her samples for testing their various magical properties. Victoire summoned the recording orb. She ran her hands around its smooth surface after she cast the spell to deactivate it. If only she could take it with her, then she might see what was happening.

_Wouldn't that be a startling surprise for her lab partner? Oh, yeah, forgot to mention blackouts and spontaneous transformations, that's not relevant, is it? _

She looked at Phineas as he closed everything up with the precision movements she had come to expect from him. She was in this study because she trusted him. She could tell him what was going on … as soon as she had a better idea of what exactly that was. Until then, she'd push forward. But first, she had to fix something else.

She laid a hand on Phineas' forearm after he secured the door to the lab. "I'm sorry about before," she said when he looked over at her. "You're right. Its my problem - I don't like the way he's acting different around her. Before her, if Teddy wanted to stay somewhere, he stayed. No one stopped him." Her mind flew to the changes in his behaviour in class. Teddy had never let anyone's opinion affect his relationships yet these days all it took was a hint that Iska would disapprove, and Victoire was left in the cold.

_If she hadn't been hiding so much, she would have really hated that._

Phineas awkwardly patted the hand she still had on his arm and replied, "I'm sorry, too." She knew he wasn't referring to the exchange from inside the lab.

She should have followed him back to the house and grabbed a nap, but she missed the window of opportunity for that when Micah was called home early. Instead, she diverted to the library to finish an assignment due the next day. She also thought she needed to give Phineas and Micah some more time to work out the dog issue.

As it turned out, Phineas and Micah were back to normal by the end of the day. Victoire caught up with them on the roof as she popped back from the library. She found them in much the same face off stance as the last time, but this exchange lacked the emotion of the other. Micah had something in her hand.

"You can't record fairies on a muggle apparatus!" Phineas appeared to be considering confiscation of the offending object, but Micah evaded him with reflexes any feline would envy.

"-_ The spare returns from where you went to mourn your family lost. Lost your wand, need not forget, what's more important to find. Find who holds it with the rest, your time, its running out_." The sound came from whatever Micah was holding. Victoire recognized the voice as Matera, the fairy troop leader, speaking from the previous weekend, bidding them farewell as they prepared to leave the boat. "-_You cannot trust everyone around you. Around you seek those who deserve your trust. Trust yourself when those around you are in need_."

A glance over Micah's shoulder confirmed that it was Matera. Victoire shook her head; the fairy's words made even less sense replayed. The next voice belonged to Owen, although he was not in view. "Fairies always talk like fortune cookies?"

Micah laughed in the recoding and as she replayed it, but Victoire didn't get the joke. She squinted again at the miniature picture, realizing only then that it was a muggle phone Micah held.

"What if a muggle sees it?" Phineas called after Micah. "Its sure to be a violation of the Statute of Secrecy."

"Relax, Fin," she responded, well out of his reach, having put the length of the lounge chairs between them. "Muggles have computer animation – no one's going to believe its real." She replayed her little show, repetition not dulling the amusement for her in the least.

"Wait a minute, you did that with your phone? Like a recording orb?" Victoire asked, the second question almost to herself.

Micah nodded, visibly puzzled at the intensity with which her friend stared at the phone in her hand.

Victoire had one of those as well. _In her room_. She wasted no time saying her goodnights and bounded up the stairs; inspiration provided lift to her limbs which had been previously sluggish with fatigue.

A frenzied hour later, she reviewed the product of that inspiration.

She didn't know how long the phone would record. The manual confused her as she frantically paged through it, yet there was no chance she was asking for help. The last thing she fancied explaining to anyone was her need to record herself in bed. She'd try it first and see what she got. Then, she would delete it –whatever it turned out to be. There was no mentioning of deleting in what she read, but she'd worry about that when the time came. If anyone ever saw the thing, she could play dumb. Surely one could press the specific series of buttons by mistake, leaving their phone propped in precisely the right position to capture the bed. By mistake.

_Yeah, dumb. That's how she'd play it. Nice plan._

She set the phone to record, propped it in a glass – had to place a rolled up sock in the bottom of the glass to get it at proper height – and balanced it on one side of her potion scale, counterweighted with a mostly full tin of peanuts. She supposed she should find the weights that went with the scale but opted to put that venture off till tomorrow. Thinking how much simpler a basic hover charm would have been – or, better yet, an actual recording orb – she turned out the light and laid down on the bed.

All she needed to do was fall asleep. Except, she couldn't. Acutely aware of the phone, the silhouette of the contraption she had rigged on her desk preoccupied her. Plus, she was hungry for peanuts.

_Ugh! _She scrubbed her face and forced herself to look at the ceiling sloping down over her bed. _Was her room always this dark?_ She glanced to the windows, careful to avoid the desk area. _No, it was overcast tonight._ Thick layers of dark clouds blocked the sky, robbing her of the moonlight she'd grown accustomed to streaming through her windows.

She resisted the urge to turn on a light. The frantic energy she experienced when she realized she had a way to see what was happening to her ebbed away. Too tired to hold out much longer, her eyelids grew heavy. Sleep would come soon; it had to. Morning would come as well. That next morning, she hoped, would come with an answer.


	13. Double, Double Dates and Trouble

**Chapter 13: Double, Double Dates and Trouble**

_Nothing. A picture of darkness featuring a vague outline under the sheets._ Holding the phone in the cloud filtered light of the morning, Victoire wondered if she'd managed to take a still picture rather than a recording at all.

Except, she'd woken up in her bed.

The full night's rest had done wonders for her physical well being. Her limbs were lighter and more nimble than they'd been in weeks, but mentally, the anxious and slightly fevered feeling that had plagued her since the first involuntary transformation persisted. Her thoughts remained clouded. Something lingered on the edge of reason. Something nagged at her, but she couldn't fit the pieces together in any coherent way.

She knew she was missing something, but eventually had to push the thoughts away and get dressed. There was a chance that she could be on time for lecture, and she didn't want that to slip by her. There was an ex hovering expectantly somewhere, she was certain, waiting for her to tell him what he already knew. And, there was the date himself, who'd be picking her up at the house that evening.

_She might not even need caffeine for once._

Her shower refused to drain that morning, causing a minor flood in her tiny bathroom which ruined her chance of an early arrival for class. That delay in combination with her need to run to Shell Cottage after classes to get a decent robe and, _Merlin help her_, dress shoes put off any share-and-tell with Teddy. She managed a long talk with her parents, however, whom she'd been avoiding due to lack of wanting to tell them what had been going on with her, but since last night had given her hope things might work themselves out, she made up for lost time. She even asked them about the werewolf family _rumoured_ to be in the woods off campus.

She left out any mention of night time escapades. She simply couldn't bring herself to worry them with it. _She'd already put them through enough trauma in the last two years._

Returning to the immersion house, she experienced a new nervous tension – the giddy variety - as she dressed and actually primped for her date. Heading downstairs, she hesitated on the third floor when the butterflies in her stomach changed tempo.

The door to Teddy and Armond's suite hung wide open, compelling Victoire to look as she passed. She didn't know why. Didn't know if she liked or dreaded the idea of running into Teddy then; having neglected to mention the date in passing, mentioning it within minutes of Nico picking her up fairly screamed that she'd been avoiding the conversation. Which, in itself, gave the date and the conversation more weight than she wanted it to have. She didn't want it to be a big deal, _even if – maybe - it was_.

_No, at this point it was far better to casually mention it after the fact: What did I do this weekend? Oh, you know…_

Her footsteps quickened past the door, but not before she caught the slight silhouette of Iska, facing the window in the study room as she held Teddy's jacket toward the light and brushed some lint off the fabric. Victoire wondered if she actually detected the exotic fragrance of Iska's perfume or if it were the memory of it, returning to mind so vividly at the sight of Iska, that made her believe she was smelling it.

She took a cleansing breath as she reached the second floor landing, only to come up short on the mid-flight turn. Face to face with Teddy.

_Well, hell._

"Hi," he said. The stairwell was wide on the lower floors, yet he didn't move to either side to let her comfortably pass through so she stalled and replaced her foot on the previous step. "You look good." He ran his hand around his watchband. "Got a date, then?"

Very aware of her appearance, Victoire experienced an odd concern that she'd never really tried to look different when she and Teddy were together. She'd expected that he'd known her so well and so long that he'd see through that somehow. _Maybe he would have liked to see the effort._

"Thanks," she replied in an odd breathy voice, completely missing the question posed.

"How do you know Nico Mancini?" Teddy leaned against the wall, allowing room for her to join him on the larger step of the turn in the stairway.

So, as she suspected, he'd found out quite a bit. "Micah introduced us." _Kind of._

"How well does she know him?" His brows drew together in concern. "I hear she goes out a lot-"

"_You hear_?" Victoire repeated, her voice recovering to a more normal, slightly mocking tone.

He paused at the interruption and regrouped. "She brings home a lot of date leftovers," he said, as if that made the point, and started forming the words to move on with his questioning.

Victoire cut him off again. "We're talking about food, right," she challenged, "'cause I'm certain I've never seen her bring a man home."

"We're not talking about food or Micah," Teddy said, clearly irritated at his inability to keep her on topic.

"You were," Victoire pointed out. "So, unless you're going to take back what you said - I mean, bloody hell, Teddy!" She leaned her back against the railing and faced him with arms crossed and an I-can't-believe-you-went–there stare. _Yes, this was definitely safer territory._ "She spent last Thursday on the wretched couch downstairs because some girl from class came over to borrow Fin's notes. If she was getting around like you _heard_," she drew out the word, "she'd have found another place to stay. Easy."

"O.K." Teddy relented, cutting a hand in front of him. "She dates a lot." He pointed his finger at her. "You can't deny that."

She would have, true or not, if he'd let her. He didn't; he intended to get to his point regardless of her distractions.

"I'm saying: she doesn't necessarily know this guy. Neither do you. You can be too trusting." He delivered the last statement with concern and affection. She might have let him get away with it - if he hadn't continued in lecture mode. "You're not planning on letting him Apparate you? You can't be sure where he'd take you-"

_What was the point in asking a question if he wasn't going to allow her to answer?_ _Like Trimble on pixie dust, this boy._

"Stop it," she scolded. "I'm an adult, you know. You sound like you're offering to chaperone." She chuckled. "What, nothing better going on for you? Don't even think about offering to double."

She caught sight of an expression fleeting across his face. _Sweet Merlin, he was thinking about it._

"That's twisted, Teddy."

"He's the kind of bloke you used to hate," he countered. His face held genuine puzzlement as he continued, "Why would you date someone like that?"

"You don't know him."

"He's a Quidditch player. He's all over the Prophet." Anticipating her rebuttal, he continued, "And the clubs. Different girl every time he's in town. He's not seeing you; he's seeing how you look."

"Because that's all I have to offer?"

_She wanted that to come out so much stronger than it did._

His voice was strong, however, each word emphasized as he said, "You know that's not true."

"Do you? Why else would you make the point?" She kept her tone low, fearing a waver would make its way into her voice. She wasn't interested in going down this road with him or anyone - she wanted to turn this back on him.

"I'm not as trusting as you remember." _That's your legacy, Teddy._

The look on his face had her worried that he'd read her thoughts.

He stepped forward reaching for her shoulder. His reply died on his lips, however, as his eyes shot behind her to the stairway below. When he paled slightly, she turned to look over her shoulder as well, knowing it wasn't a trick of his Metamorphmagus abilities. There stood her date and an uncharacteristically quiet Armond, who'd shown him in. Clearly, neither expected the pre-dinner drama they'd scored the front row for.

Teddy closed his eyes and cursed under his breath as he shook his head only to lose the rest of his colour when he caught sight of a shadow from the landing above them. Iska had balcony seating for the show.

* * *

"Teddy ruined my date," Victoire stated by way of greeting the next day as she approached the table where Owen was waiting for her at the Leaky Cauldron.

Owen had raised his fork to his mouth, but forgot to eat. His eyes widened. "He was there?"

"Might as well have been," she answered with an annoyed frown. "My date heard Teddy say he was only after me for one thing. That_ one thing_ hung out there all night, ruining everything."

Owen relaxed slightly, but never took his bite. Placing his fork down, he examined Victoire. "Any possibility it was your irritability hanging between you?" His smile grew at the increased petulance in her features. He couldn't resist adding, "It's possible not everyone finds_ The Victoire Show_ as entertaining as I do."

She flicked his ear and took the seat opposite him crossing her arms on the table. "I'll have you know, he passed me off to his twin brother saying and I quote: 'I may be the bloke your friend warned you about, but he's definitely not.'"

"Twin brother? Like a tag team?" Owen choked out. "That's, ah, taking wing man a step too far."

Victoire lifted one hand to her neck and began twirling a strand of hair. "I, erm, mixed them up," she confessed, her eyes scanning the course grain of the wooden tabletop between them.

"You're shitting me." Owen leaned back and rested his arm on the back of his chair.

She tilted her head. "It was dark. I returned from the ladies. Thought he'd moved to the bar-" She halted her explanation to glare at him as it appeared he was straining not to laugh at her. "They were both wearing black robes," she informed him, as if that exonerated chatting up a date's brother.

"The same black robes?" he clarified.

_Ok, so she'd been irritated and distracted throughout the disaster of a date._ _Maybe, she should have noticed that the conversation had a different tone._ Thing was, she'd decided in the loo to simply end things early, and when he looked happy to see her upon her return, she merely thought he'd forgiven her for being such a failure at dinner and was looking to start fresh. She wanted to redeem herself. _Who knew it was a different guy entirely - with the same face - looking to chat up a random girl approaching him at the bar out of nowhere? _

Victoire didn't. He didn't. No one did until her original date showed up looking for her.

"Not exactly," she begrudged. Unfortunately, that confession ended the holding back portion of the conversation. Owen looked like he might possibly laugh himself off the chair. Part of her hoped he would hit the floor. It truly wasn't that funny.

She couldn't maintain her annoyance for long, however, as she missed hearing him laugh, and seeing that again was worth a price. She knew her misfortune didn't rate the level of amusement he currently derived from it, but she let him have a go at her expense. _She was a good friend._

Luckily, they were sitting near the door, away from most of the other customers. Owen's outburst only drew the attention of the waitress, who narrowed her eyes at Victoire, and a man at the next table, who glared at them both over the top of his _Daily Prophet_.

"I'm sorry." Owen regained his composure. "I'm sure it could happen to anyone." He feigned a sympathetic look before taking a deep cleansing breath. "There wasn't a duel, was there?" He stammered the word duel, and Victoire wondered if he was going to set himself off again.

_Really, how did boys manage to evolve with only anger and laughter as emotional outlets. Fine, she'd give him one more round, and they were done. She wasn't that good a friend. _

"No," she deadpanned. "He realized what happened before he stepped up to the bar. They're twins, after all," she emphasized for good measure.

Owen truly did look more like himself, after he actually managed to compose himself, and asked without inflection, "Will there be a second date?"

"If I see either of them ever again, I'm Apparating to China," she blurted before grabbing a chip off of his plate.

She still blamed Teddy, and although she didn't repeat her accusation, Owen picked up on her thoughts.

"He's not going to like the idea of you with someone else."

"You understand that's hypocritical," she complained, indignant that he would express it so matter of fact; as a right rather than a ridiculous double standard.

He shrugged. "I do."

_Well, then, there you have it. Very helpful. Glad we cleared that up._

Victoire sighed loudly as Owen retrieved his fork and continued his snack where he'd left off. Only then did it occur to Victoire that they were meeting to go to the immersion house for dinner.

"Why are you eating?" she asked.

Owen swallowed and took a sip of his drink before he answered. "I've heard how meals go at your house."

"Very funny," Victoire said as she stole another chip. "This weekend's about doing things better. Fin's asked his older sister to help."

"Ah," he said with a nod, "She's been through the program before, then."

Victoire shook her head. "Squib. Lived with muggles most of her life. I haven't come right out and asked him, but I think she's why Fin's in the program. He placed out of it his first year at Bimas, but voluntarily revoked his exemption this year to do the muggle living experience."

"Huh," Owen replied, balling his napkin up, tossing it on his plate, and pulling out the coins to cover his meal. "Let's go, then, always a kick seeing you purebreds out of your natural habitat." Placing the money on the table, he stood and grabbed Victoire's chair for her. With a smile and a wave of thanks for the waitress, he led Victoire outside and they were off to the immersion house.

They were busted by Andy, who was at the door of Victoire's room, as they came in from the roof. Victoire froze in the stairway, leaving Owen standing on the fire escape outside.

Andy chuckled. "Don't panic, I'd be an idiot not to know you were up to something out there - open window with no sound – suspicious."

Victoire stepped in the narrow stairway to allow Owen in as well, leaving them packed in like sardines in the dimly lit space.

"Up or down?" Andy asked. "There's definitely no passing here."

"Down," said Owen when Victoire faltered, placing his hand on the small of her back in the tight confines of the space and prompting her to move in that direction. She sprung into action, leading the way and opening the door to the third floor landing which was better suited to accommodate the trio.

Andy shut the door to the attic stairwell as he stepped into the open space, amusement still lurking in his eyes. "Don't worry about it," he said as he gestured back where they had come. "I'm checking your pluming, remember, not policing your actions."

"Oh, thanks. What was the issue?"

"A lot of hair down the drain."

"Oh, sorry. Some reason I've been shedding a lot lately," she said, before she nodded her head in the direction of the stairwell. "So, its ok, out there? We should have asked."

Andy shrugged it off in the same easygoing manner he accepted everything. They started walking down to the stairs, Andy heading to his next project and the other two heading to the kitchen.

"Main thing here is that you complete the chores and specified activities and spend the required hours in the house," he said, hesitating on the squeaky step between the second and third floors to test it with a few presses of his foot. He grabbed a notepad out of his pocket and made a note while he continued speaking. "Time spent on the roof won't count, though, unless you leave your wand in the house."

They had descended to the main foyer by then. Andy pointed to the wand cabinet which housed two wands with Victoire's name and teased, "'Course, you've got the loophole for that, yeah?"

Before Victoire could respond, the front door opened and a single wand flew simultaneously to the cabinet affixing itself with the label of _Phineas Nathaniel Colburn_. The man himself entered with a statuesque blond woman dressed in muggle clothes. He looked surprised to see a welcome party, but quickly recovered and introduced his sister, Amelia, who was soft spoken, greeting everyone with an open, friendly smile and an inquisitive gaze that likely didn't miss much.

The door had been left open, presumably for Diogy who waddled through shortly behind the siblings. His belly remained distended, hindering his usual exuberance, but he managed a good tail wagging for the group and ambled over to rub against Phineas' leg.

Owen had to duck quickly as another wand sailed to the cabinet with Micah's entrance. He straightened and his eyesight followed the trajectory of the wand that nearly hit him. "How do you get Micah from Marie?"

"You don't," she replied easily. "It's an ancestral wand."

Victoire looked at the wand in the cabinet labelled _Marie Claire Lanier_. "Didn't you buy a new one this summer?" Trying to remember what that wand looked like, she couldn't recall its makeup at all. She'd had trouble recalling a lot of things lately.

"I sure did," Micah replied and addressed the group in the same smooth, liquid drawl, "Y'all ready to cook? You staying, Andy?"

He looked like he might want to, but shook his head, "I have another stop to make. Maybe if I get done early, I'll drive back this way." He looked at Amelia. "Nice to meet you. Hope they feed you something edible."

Micah stepped aside to let Andy out then led the way down to the kitchen. Once there, she busied herself filling the dog's dish with water and leading him out to the back yard. The dog wasn't entirely satisfied with his offering, but Micah wasn't relenting to the pitiful stare. _Apparently, processing was still an issue and real meals were not yet on Diogy's horizon_.

"Have you met Andy before?" Phineas asked his sister as they too came through the door.

"Its not a club, Phineas," Amelia responded playfully, "We don't hold meetings and there's not a secret handshake."

"I know," he said, but carried on with enthusiasm, "Hopefully, he'll come back and you can get to know him."

"If you're going where I think you're going, you can stop right there," his sister scolded lightly.

"It's not that he's a squib." Phineas appeared as though he was trying to retrace how he'd talked himself into trouble. "He's a great guy - with a decent job."

"A wizard job."

His brows drew together slightly as he looked at his sister. "How does that matter?"

"Look, it means the world to me that you're doing this." Amelia gestured around the kitchen with all its muggle appliances and cookware. "I want to know you better, too. But.. I'm not living everyday with one foot in one world and the other in a completely different world."

It was difficult not to feel like an intruder when you were one of the three others in the kitchen. Owen, Micah, and Victoire exchanged glances before busying themselves around the table at the opposite end of the room. Phineas and Amelia weren't arguing, but an undercurrent of things not yet said ran through the exchange, making it fascinating and slightly taboo to witness. The three others in the room paid rapt attention.

"I hope you don't regret this." Amelia's gentle voice coaxed her brother out of his silence. "I know it wasn't easy for you to explain to Father after he got you the exemption-"

"I never asked for the exemption-" Phineas quickly replied.

"I know," his sister assured him.

"I neglected to question it," he admitted with reluctance but met her gaze as he did. Her eyes mirrored his, not exact in the colour but dead on in the sincerity of expression, apparently a Colburn trait. "I regret not questioning it at the time."

Amelia smiled. "But you did. The fact that it wasn't at the time doesn't mean that it doesn't matter all the same." She reached for his hand. "If we're going to make this work – and I really want to - you need to learn the first rule of full time sisters: brothers are not allowed to make any choice of men for them. One way or the other."

Owen ducked his head between Victoire and Micah whispering, "Little does he know, that's only the first of about a trillion rules when it comes to dealing with women – related or otherwise."

Victoire swatted him for that, but Micah continued to look speculatively at the siblings before commenting, "I think he truly doesn't understand why someone would choose muggle over wizard. I can totally see her point - there are times when the muggle world is a better choice."

Victoire leaned in to peer around Owen and get a better look at her. "Andy does fine," she replied.

Micah nodded absently.

"I only want you to be happy," Phineas was saying, sounding a lot like a big brother with the comment, despite being a good five years younger.

"I am. Or I will be when you feed me," she laughed.

Two hours later they were serving up what turned out to be a passable meal. They may never be great muggle chefs, no matter how many parallels Phineas could draw between muggle cooking and potion making, but they would likely be able to feed themselves without their wands.

Owen even went after seconds despite having had a pre-dinner dinner. When he did set his fork down, he looked at Micah across the table. "The wand from your relative, it works for you?"

Micah's eyebrows rose a trifle in surprise at the question before she nodded her head to the side with a half shrug. "I like it," she responded. "Why do you ask?"

Owen contemplated the question for a moment before measuring his answer. "I tried to use a family wand. It did nothing for me. I'm wondering if it was a random wand all along."

His admission surprised Victoire. She wondered if his talking about his father's wand now, even in such generic terms, signalled a letting go. She knew the disappointment of not having found his answer had hurt him, but she didn't know if she wished closure for him if that closure meant losing hope of ever having an answer.

Micah looked intrigued, casting a questioning glance at Phineas, who caught her look and addressed Owen, "A family connection doesn't guarantee you'll find affinity with a wand. A wand chooses the wizard, it doesn't have to choose a relative even if its owner gave it to them. Some wands never change once aligned with someone, they are loyal even in defeat by another wizard. A rare few – wands of destiny - are compelled by the most basic of instincts. The Elder Wand is the best known - its allegiance completely unsentimental – not to the wizard but to power."

"Wow, Fin," Micah said scooting her chair right next to his. "You think if I get close enough any of that'll rub off on me?" She laughed as she rubbed her shoulder against his.

He turned red, much to the amusement of his sister, sitting on his other side.

"Oh, there's the blush," Micah kidded. "I miss that. I started to worry I'd jaded you to the point where it was gone forever." She ruffled his hair as she got up from the table and started removing dishes.

Phineas recovered quickly, and although still red, he wasn't going to let Micah get away with the last word. "What should rub off on you is the need to find your other wand," he said to the retreating brunette. "The house wards detect the affinity from the wand core, if the one you're using still holds to the original owner, that could be the trouble you're having in transfiguration. It's basic OWL fundamentals undermining you - indicative of a fickle bond with the wand."

"That's a good point, Fin," Micah acknowledged, waving everyone else back down in their seats as she stacked a remarkable assembly of dishes in one load and brought them to the sink. Grabbing a towel, she wiped her hands and turned. "Better point might be: what does the house say about _his _wand?" She snapped the towel at Owen and wagged her eyebrows.

Victoire nearly spat out the water she'd been sipping. _Could it be that simple? _

* * *

Victoire waited for Owen's return on the roof, a nervous blur of restless activity, completely incapable of keeping her eyes off her watch. _They'd been chasing around for months. __How could something so important - so plain as day when pointed out to you - completely escape your attention for so long?_

She spun around at the pop of his arrival. They walked to the fire escape together in silence. Victoire waved him through the window and the wand disappeared into the house. Micah and Phineas were at the bottom of the stairs, having stayed on the main floor after saying goodbye to Amelia. Diogy sat between them enjoying pets from both sides. Neither looked at the case, waiting for Owen to verify the label affixed to the wand.

Phineas stood at their approach, moving to the step behind where Micah sat to let them pass. The quiet continued, the moment playing in slow motion compared to the frenzy of plans and speculation that followed Micah's suggestion to let the house tell them the true owner of the wand Owen had been carrying since he discovered it in his mother's things as a boy.

Victoire stopped on the final step herself and watched from the same distance as the others.

"Alphard Black." Owen spoke to the wand. "Who are you?"

"Were," Victoire said, "I didn't put him on the list because he died long before you entered the picture." She walked to him and put her arm around his waist, letting him drop his over her shoulder and looking over at his profile while he stared at the label in the cabinet. "We know his niece." When he looked at her she smiled with renewed purpose. "Have you met Teddy's Grandmother?"

* * *

**AN: If you're disappointed that Victoire didn't find out what was going on, I apologize (kind of). I promise I'm not drawing it out to be mean (much). The reason she didn't transform is a clue to the reason she does. **

**Riddle me that, batman.**

**On the bright side – Owen is closer to solving his little mystery which means he may snap all the way out of his funk, so that's a happy :)**


	14. The Brilliance of Footed Pyjamas

**The Brilliance of Footed Pyjamas**

Victoire desperately tried to scream but no sound came out. Instead, her head filled with unearthly sounds, expanding ever louder against the confines of her skull. Her attempts to fight her way through the depth of the darkness lagged. Her strength faltered under a crushing weight to her chest. Her body trembled with the strain when strong arms encircled her, pulling her up. She leaned into those arms but found little relief in them. She panted, her mind begging for air.

The rush of cold shocked her. She revived with a shudder, continuing to gasp for breath. The air, when it came, chilled her throat and burned her chest. Disoriented, she blinked and tried to focus.

Teddy was holding her on the roof outside her room and sporting a rather nasty scratch on his cheek for his effort. He placed Victoire on her feet, keeping his arms around her as if she might fall without the support. She was sure she would have.

"Breath…please…deep breath," he was saying. When she looked at him, he recoiled with a sharp curse. "Your eyes! They're blood red."

She squeezed her lids shut, attempting to get herself under control. "Must've been … about to transform," she wheezed, halting the transformation, but unable to quell the tremors coursing through her. Muscles all over her body cramped intermittently, seizing up and holding before releasing. "Where did you come from?"

"I heard thrashing around in your room."

_Nightmares._ She was having a nightmare when Teddy pulled her outside for air. Had he not – right then – she wouldn't have remembered anything. She'd have woken up somewhere else – again - not knowing what set her off.

"This…this..." Teddy appeared quite shaken himself. "Has this happened before?" He'd moderated his hold as her trembling subsided, his embrace changing from supportive to comforting. "Is this why you were looking at sleep potions?"

"No. Yes. I mean…looking but never took any." She couldn't quite meet him in the eye. _Why must he be the one to rescue her?_

"I was loud enough to wake you up?" Victoire asked, confused. Echoes of the ghastly noise that haunted her sleep had faded but had not left her mind entirely. "What time is it?"

"Umm, its one." Teddy sounded uncomfortable, agitation lurking under his concern for her. "I was already up."

_Oh_. "How?"

"You didn't wake me," he explained. At her expression, he reluctantly continued, "I was coming in. I heard you through the stairwell. Everyone else is still asleep."

"Oh." Grateful his admission distracted him from quizzing her further, she peered over his shoulder into the night. The clouds, which cloaked the sky so completely the last two nights, had given way since she'd laid down in her bed, leaving the light of the barely waning reddish moon to dominate the horizon. "Harvest moon this week," she commented, continuing to lean into the warmth and solidness of his frame. "I suppose that doesn't help."

"Its a problem," he admitted with an edge to his voice. "Iska gets … distant. Mood changes bother her."

"Wow, does her monthly coincide with yours?" Victoire remarked dryly, shifting her gaze back toward his face. _Not the correct approach._

"You know what made it worse." Teddy dropped his arms, leaving her with a sense of loss for their warmth.

"Worse doesn't mean it was ok to start with," she said, staring out to the same skyline behind where he was and not at him where he'd moved.

"Everyone doesn't grow up with this stuff; doesn't make you a better person." His tone was, without a doubt, defensive.

Victoire stiffened, thoroughly chastised. He was right; she'd lived her life with the understanding of lunar cycles. She knew the edgy restlessness the full moon pulled out of both her father and Teddy. She learned to recognize when they needed their space and not to take it to heart, but claiming she thought the experience made her better than anyone else was simply wrong. She didn't feel better than anyone; couldn't remember a time she thought herself better than anyone at all.

_Hell, she was the one whimpering in her own room minutes ago for no apparent reason._

"I didn't say it did," she replied, hugging herself and shivering. "Thanks for your help," she added as she turned to make her way back to the window. It wouldn't have been a grand exit even if her legs weren't slightly shaky, but it was all she had.

_Must remember: never say anything bad about a friend's girlfriend. Even if they do._ Regardless of what a couple did to each other, anyone else was still the outsider.

_The outsider. Yes, that was her. Freezing her arse off on the roof. Where could she get a damn pair of footed pyjamas? A t-shirt and sleep shorts didn't cut it for people prone to late night freak-outs._

Victoire, despite being near fully awake by that time, couldn't stop herself from stumbling as she made her way back into her room. She was caught around the waist before she tripped.

"Here, let me help you back to bed," he said in the same deep voice she remembered used to send shivers through her. She hoped he realized her shivers then were from the wind.

"I'm not going back to bed," she stated, striving to still her reactions. The air in the room seemed heavy after the brisk wind outside. She felt as if the walls were holding in a pressure far exceeding their capacity. "I'm going to the kitchen for tea. I can get a lot done when the house is quiet."

"You need sleep," Teddy said in his I'm-so-grown-up tone of voice, a tone completely negating its rich baritone quality.

Victoire hated the grown up voice._ She was not a child._

"You need sleep."

"Victoire."

_Again with the tone. _

"I've had several hours of sleep already. That's all I need," she replied moving out of their extremely close proximity to grab a thick jumper and slip on a pair of jeans over her shorts. "You haven't had any sleep – so try your own advice."

Feeling a little less vulnerable now she had clothes on as well, Victoire moved to the door. The headache she experienced upon waking started to come back in seismic waves. She wanted to get out of the tiny room and have some tea.

"Thanks again. Wouldn't want to keep you any longer." She threw her book bag over her shoulder, held the door, and motioned for Teddy.

Massaging his own temples, he started down her narrow attic staircase. She expected him to veer off to his room when he reached the open third floor landing, but he kept descending. She stopped at the landing and watched his head disappear down the lower flight.

"What are you waiting for?" His subdued voice carried up.

"Did you forget where you sleep?" she whispered, then started at the sound of Diogy moving to the door and emitting a soft huff. She froze and waited. Sure enough, the stirring inside preceded a sleepy Micah peeking her head out.

"Quiet, boy. You'll wake Fin," Micah said, regarding Victoire with surprise. "All right, sugar?"

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep, heading for the kitchen," Victoire explained, careful not to glance beyond the landing.

"Want some company, hun? I could take Diogy down yonder; sit with you a piece while he does his business." She yawned. "Then, he wouldn't get me up at the crack of dawn for his mornin' constitutional," she finished, giving the dog an unconvincing glare. Diogy stretched and licked her hand.

Had she been more herself, Victoire would have laughed. _Sleepy Micah was rather colloquial._

"I'll take him so you can go back to sleep and get a lie in tomorrow, yeah?" Victoire darted a peek down to the outline of Teddy in the shadows of the stairwell. She sensed Diogy knew someone was there, but Micah wasn't picking up on that fact. "I guarantee I won't feel lacking for company. I already feel guilty for waking you."

"Already up. Your boy came tearin' through here like a hurricane not long ago. Slammin' doors and such. Not sure what that ruckus was about." Micah shook her head. "Ok, you change your mind you send fuzz butt back up for me, y'hear?"

"Sure, 'night." Victoire slapped her leg twice. "Come on, boy."

Diogy wagged his tail and sprinted down the stairs where Teddy waited. Not a word was spoken as they creaked down the remaining flights to the kitchen. Diogy darted between them, alternating a trot ahead with a return to circle them, nails clicking on the solid floors and tail wagging with an occasional dull thump to the wall.

Victoire flipped a switch as they entered the kitchen. The first artificial light she'd encountered since she went to sleep appeared stark in comparison with the glow of moonlight bathing the rest of the house. She preferred candles.

"So much for not waking anyone up," Victoire commented with a sigh.

Teddy opened the back door to let the dog into the yard. "I woke her up. Not you. She and Fin split the suite so her bed is out in the study room. Rest of the bedrooms aren't adjacent to the landings. No one else would've heard us."

"Are you sure? I understand there was a ruckus." She put her book bag on the table and started the kettle.

Teddy gave her a withering smirk. "She doesn't like me much."

"Micah? What does she have against you? Besides slammin' doors and such."

"I don't know, but she definitely doesn't like me. She likes you, though," he countered.

"I'm a likeable girl," Victoire replied.

Teddy reached for the latest volume on human transfiguration Phineas lent her for their independent study. "You never told me your Animagus form."

"I asked you to guess. Tea?" She grabbed the cups and prepared them, idly scanning the contents of the cupboard for sweets. She really wanted chocolate. She'd even chance the wrath of Pauline and take some of her labelled stash if she could find it.

"Is this what's keeping you up?" Teddy decided to move on from the Animagus topic, still flipping through the book. "Placing out of the intro doesn't mean you need to take something else. No one would think less of you, and it'd give you a chance to ease into the course load."

"I'm keeping up fine in my classes. All. Of. Them," she emphasized with a frown before turning her back to him, willing the flames licking the bottom of the kettle to work faster. She needed him to understand she was fine, couldn't have him guess that she wasn't. Bitchiness was a shoddy defence but, in the wee hours of the morning, it was something. A wall she could erect to protect herself from the urge to borrow, yet again, the strength he had always lent her when he knew she needed it.

"Matter of fact," she pulled her shoulders straight as she spoke to the wall she faced, "I'm ahead in reading, and may be late for the occasional class, but I'm on time with my assignments."

_Ok, so she'd be completely screwed without the generosity of Grandpa Delacour. Teddy didn't need to know that._

She caught the sound of the book closing before being placed on the table with a slight thump which, in itself, sounded tired. "I'm not implying you aren't smart enough for the independent study. Its…if you aren't sleeping to do work-" His earnest voice might have been endearing, if he were dissecting someone else's shortcomings.

"I'm not having nightmares about my classes," Victoire snapped grabbing the kettle with a little too much force.

"Then, what?" Teddy shot back.

_Yes, this was definitely the conversation she wanted to have – with her stroppy due to lack of sleep and him suffering from his personal brand of PMS_.

"I don't even know!" Victoire shoved Teddy's cup at him and grabbed her book back. _She'd had enough of this ride for one night; she wanted to get off_. She nearly made the kitchen door before she remembered Diogy. Victoire swore under her breath, aborted her second not-so-grand-exit of the night, and headed back past Teddy to the outside door.

"Diogy come!" She called as loud as she dared into the darkness. The big black dog emerged at once out of the shadows and bounded up to her with tail wagging.

"V, please, sit down. Drink your tea," Teddy requested, using the nickname for the first time since his return. She stopped in her tracks. "I'm not implying you're any less prepared for Bimas. I'm struggling to keep my commitments balanced, and I don't spend all my weekends on pet projects -"

She didn't believe what she heard. She hardly considered Owen's search for his father or the boat _pet_ projects -fairy infestation aside. _Maybe if he stopped spending every free minute with Iska he wouldn't be behind in everything else. It was like he didn't even realize how much of his time he spent catering to her wishes_.

"- I've considered dropping something. It's ok to admit. Sometimes there aren't enough hours in the day."

"I have plenty of hours in my day." Victoire decided not to voice her thoughts on the subject of his weekends. She was in no condition for an all out brawl that night.

Teddy huffed. "I'd like to know how you manage, then." He grabbed his tea and took a swift drink before reaching to pet Diogy, who sat on his haunches beside the table.

Victoire examined her oldest friend as he petted the dog, watching his hand move without thought to scratch behind Diogy's ear. The dog was in heaven. In that moment, the tension lessened in her body. This was the Teddy she knew - irritated as hell yet absentmindedly petting a dog in the vicinity to make the pet happy. Teddy. He was still there. She missed him.

He met her stare, his hand momentarily stopping, causing Diogy to whimper for him to continue. "I bloody hate this," he said, looking miserable.

She nodded. The remaining tension drained from her limbs, taking the support the resulting tightness had provided. She dropped into the nearest chair, not bothering to reach for her tea across the table. On the floor above, a clock chimed the passing of another hour into the night.

Teddy grabbed the cup for her and placed the steaming tea in her line of sight. Staring glass-eyed at the geometric pattern surrounding the rim, she missed the expression on his face as he said, "I can't stand watching you from a distance."

"But its there now, isn't it?" She drew in long a breath and let it leak out slowly as she watched the steam lift from the surface of the tea; she felt as vaporous as it looked.

"No. We're still us."

They were. She was still Victoire and he was still Teddy. She sighed and turned to him. "Then why does it feel like intruding, wanting to go see Andromeda with you and Owen?"

"It isn't," he affirmed. "You're the reason he has something to ask."

"That's how it feels," she accused, although she knew she wasn't mad at him. She was mad at fate. Fate slapped her with a condition she couldn't handle even as everyone had finally believed she could. Fate sentenced her to nights of dysfunction and the sense of everything, everything being out of her control. Fate took away the _us_ that they were and left a void in its place.

Shaking her head against the thought, she returned her attention to Teddy. "Exactly the point you were making, right?" she asked in a defeated voice. "Not enough hours in the day for all this stuff-"

"If you weren't you, Owen would've given up," Teddy interrupted, stopping her with an effectiveness born from her respect for his opinion. "You're going to take on other people's problems, always have. The point was not to stop but to draw the line."

She picked up her cup, running her thumb inside the loop of the handle. The conversation felt too circular to her. _Weren't they back to where they started? She couldn't manage things and wasn't about to admit it. Yes, that sounded like the point where she boarded this ride._

She looked at him and challenged, "How do you draw lines?"

He exhaled a humourless laugh. "I'm letting someone down every way I turn. If I spend time with Owen, or anybody, I feel guilty about Iska." A tough admission for him to make. "I don't have enough hours in my day."

The question shot out before she could think to stop it. "What do you do after your last class?"

His forehead creased slightly with the slight raise his eyebrows. "I go to the library. Cram in as much work as I can before –" He halted, raking his hand through his hair. "Why?"

"Today," she said, because _tomorrow_ didn't seem the least bit appropriate given the current hour, "come back straight away. You'll get more done."

* * *

"You showed," Victoire announced as Teddy met her on the rooftop as directed.

"Obviously. Going to tell me why you asked me here?" He leaned against the wall with a casual air that didn't quite match his guarded expression.

"I'm going to show you," Victoire promised, leading him back to the hallway between their floors and up the narrow staircase toward her room. She stopped outside the door and checked below the door jam. The clear piece of tape remained in tact. "Is anyone looking for you this afternoon?" She asked behind her, the last chance to stop what she had hastily decided to reveal.

"No," he responded with suspicion from two steps below.

She ripped off the tape before opening the door. Light from her room streamed into the stairwell, but she made no move inside. "This is muggle tape." She turned to show him the clear sticky material before she balled it up between her hands. "Its virtually invisible unless you now where to look. Its still here so I know no one entered this room today."

The expression on his face was priceless as he struggled to make sense of the whole thing. Amused, she pondered dragging out the mystery. _Who was she kidding, though; she couldn't pull off that kind of charade_.

She wasn't made for intrigue, so she continued with her explanation, "I left before eight this morning." She checked her watch. "After two now. If I turn back time, I have up to six hours in the past to use the room without any concern someone will know."

Teddy didn't move and no glimmer of recognition crossed his features so she reached under her shirt and pulled out her charm necklace. As soon as she touched the cord, it and a collection of charms became visible. She selected the object her grandfather Delacour gave her when she made Head Girl, not a mere Time-Turner charm but a working Time-Turner.

The cord around her neck stretched as far as she needed with the slightest pull, and she extended it out for Teddy to see. His eyes grew wide as he took in the now full size object in her hand. Few people, especially in Britain, had seen one as most of those relics had been destroyed in the second war. Victoire had never let anyone know she had one, although she used the tool throughout her final year at Hogwarts to keep up with her studies, Head Girl duties, and Sara's ridiculously involved NEWT prep outline.

Extra time did little to make her more prompt, but it did allow her the leisure to complete assignments in a manner far more thorough than she'd have accomplished otherwise. Looking back, she would never have made the grades she did without the combination of Sara's planning/nagging and the additional hours, gained through her heirloom, to manage the workload.

"Is that real?" The reverence exhibited by Teddy, in the soft light streaming down from her room, made him appear angelic.

Victoire nodded. "I use it for extra sleep or study time," she confessed. "If you're behind in work, you can catch some extra hours with me." She watched closely for his reaction. "You must agree to some terms first: you cannot tell anyone, you need to be reasonably quiet in case someone was in the house during the morning, and, once we agree on how many hours to turn back, you stay the whole time."

"It works in this house?"

She nodded again. "No wand or incantation - same reason you can morph," she explained.

"I can?" In answer to his own question, Teddy sprouted a toucan beak where his nose used to be. His eyes crossed as he inspected his handiwork.

Victoire laughed; the toucan had always been a favourite of hers. Teddy then shook his head and the beak disappeared while his hair changed to a dark blue. She hadn't seen Teddy in colour for so long. He not only kept the same dark brown hair those days – Victoire suspected Iska required the shade to compliment hers in a creepy, couple sort of way - but he also dressed in darker, more refined shades trendy in the upscale clubs. _Another Iska influence._ _Teddy seemed quite happy to have her dictate for him._

Teddy scrutinized her with an intensity that drove out all thoughts of Iska. "Who else knows abut this?"

"Your morphing? Well, probably most everyone you went to school -" He gave her a look. She got serious again. "It's a Delacour family heirloom, but Mum and Gran don't. Dad does because Gramps asked his permission. Both were _adamant _about the rules – 'vital' and 'non negotiable' - bad things can happen when altering time."

Teddy was still processing. "It works in the house," he repeated.

"Magical potions and objects retain their magical properties within the wards," Victoire quoted Andy's orientation speech.

"We can turn back six hours right now?"

"Yes." She couldn't help but smile, happy to finally share her prize with someone. She'd considered telling Sara several times but something held her back; maybe fear Sara would use the excuse to augment the already maniacal study plan she'd developed for revisions.

"I'd like all six." Teddy smiled back, his eyes sparkled with wonder and delight. Victoire remembered the feeling.

She closed the door to the room, leaving them in the semi-darkness of the stairwell, and placed one foot down on the step where he stood, rocking up on her tiptoes to place the cord around his neck as well. They were as close as anyone could get without touching. She sensed the warmth radiating from him, breathing in as she spun the dial. She expected the fragrance of the heady cologne he now used, but she supposed he didn't wear any to class. Instead, she was engulfed in a clean, masculine scent tinged with spearmint.

His eyes never left hers as the Time-Tuner spun, coming to a stop a few moments later. She pulled the cord back from around his head, grazing his soft hair in the process, and opened the door, gesturing him inside. _Too late to turn back now. _They were confined for the next three hundred and sixty minutes. _Why had realization not dawned on her before how very small her room would be with two adults inside? _

"So," she began, taking a step away - not far away as one stride brought you nearly across the width of the room. "I set the time." She reached to a shelf and removed a bright yellow smiley faced clock, complete with two bells on top, before she wound the dial and fixed the alarm hand one tick shy of the her target. "It'll ring when the six hours-"

_Shit, _she thought,_ six hours._

"- are up and we can leave safely without anyone finding out."

She continued her orientation, opening a small cupboard to show him the fruits, beverages, and various snacks she kept stocked. "Turning back time doesn't mean you don't get hungry in the interim so help yourself." She turned and pointed to the only other door in the room. "The loo's there." Something else she failed to consider in this little arrangement. She might have to run the tap to tinkle with him right outside. She wondered if she could hold it for six hours.

_Great, she had to go now just thinking about it._

"That's a lot of food." Teddy approached her pseudo-pantry. "How often do you do this?"

Victoire gave a half shrug. "Once a week." She swept a hand in the direction of the cupboard and explained, "The snacks aren't all for Time-Turning. I take excursions in Animagus form. Animal metabolism usually leaves me famished."

He grabbed two bottles from a crate on the floor. "Care to elaborate on those excursions?" Victoire shook her head and he continued, "Would it productive to bug you for more specifics?"

"Not if you'd like to be invited back." She accepted the drink he offered and smirked.

He surveyed the small room before looking back at her. "Where do you want me?"

There was a time she would have had a much different answer for the same question. "Desk. You have work to do and I need a nap before I'll be worth anything at all."

She made her way to the bed. She should've been completely knackered after the previous night, but felt oddly energized - nervous energy, at that. She turned on the fan to move the air around and, hopefully, provide some white noise before she laid down facing the wall. She was extremely aware of his presence behind her, quietly pulling out books and parchment.

She was so not going to be able to fall asleep. Very conscious of her every move, she didn't want to appear restless and, as a result, she knew she was lying too still. She couldn't seem to moderate herself. Every limb wanted to move –yet she held them all static by force of will.

_Six hours. _

After a few minutes of torture, Teddy's deep baritone drifted across the room, "Asleep yet?"

"No," she told the wall, seeing no sense in lying about it. She was sure he asked because he knew she wasn't.

"I have one more question." Victoire swivelled her head, meeting his bright eyes as he asked, "If you carry a Time-Turner, how are you late for everything?"

She threw a pillow at him, hoping he didn't get how much she needed the break in the tension, but it did the trick. He lobbed the pillow back at her with a smack. Not as tense but still unable to shake the awkwardness, Victoire gave up the notion of drifting easily off to sleep. She leaned over the side of the bed to pull out her Wandlore book, propped up on two pillows and balanced the big volume open on her raised knees. If she wasn't going to nap, she could at least read for her next assignment.

Concentration remained an issue, however, and her mind wandered. Remembering Phineas' comments, she idly flipped to the index and searched wands of destiny. The Elder Wand, in all its Deathstick glory, she was familiar with, but another entry caught her eye – Lovestick. _That sounded a little naughty_. She had an idea as to what basic instinct compelled that wand's allegiance and flipped to the entry to confirm.

* * *

**Lightening Wand** (also: Lovestick )

**Core:** Lightening Infused Crystal  
**Wood:** Rosewood  
**Length: **16 inches  
**Strength:** Mastery of the elements  
**Allegiance**: Believed to be lost at sea with its last known master.

The natural event precipitating the infusion of lightening into the crystal was unprecedented and has not been successfully duplicated in any form despite countless, often fatal, attempts. Its use as a core in a wand gifted by an avant-guarde wand maker to his wife at the birth of their first child created a bond so strong the wand itself embodied the sentimentality, passing ownership only if presented to another with genuine love.

* * *

Victoire skimmed the passage. The wand's inspired beginning carried on through ages of lineage between family members and lovers until it ended tragically for one girl, a merchant's daughter who gifted the wand to a corsair to gain favour over her rivals for his attention, mistaking him to be more gentleman than pirate. The man's only love proved to be the sea. The merchant tried in vain to reclaim the wand so foolishly lost by his daughter, but the allegiance held strong. The pirate went on to use the wand in legendary exploits; he raised ships from the depth to loot their treasure, conjured rogue waves to defeat any vessels in pursuit of his, and summoned storms to mask his escapes while the girl left behind lost her prize and her heart.

Victoire's eyes drifted to the man at the desk. A shock of hair fell over his eye as he covered a parchment with quick, decisive strokes of his quill. Essays came easy for Teddy; he excelled at explaining, theorizing and describing. She couldn't think of a subject he couldn't articulate effortlessly on parchment. One of the many things she admired about him.

_Would she have been able or willing to give the Lightening Wand to Teddy? _She sunk down and burrowed her head back into the pillow. _If so, would he still have it?_

She drifted off at some point because the next thing she knew the clock rang the end of their stolen hours. She awoke curled up with a pillow hugged to her chest and her book kicked down somewhere near the end of the bed. Hitting the alarm automatically, she took some time to rise from the bed and was mid stretch when she caught sight of Teddy propped back in the chair with his feet casually crossed on the desk.

"Forgot I was here?" he drawled when she blinked at him.

"Yes, actually, for a moment I did." She aborted her stretch and swung her feet to the floor. "Get a lot done?" She surveyed the messy desk.

"Tons. Can't believe most of the day's still ahead of me." He dropped his feet down and shifted to face her, leaning forward until his elbows hit his knees, hands clasped between them. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied. The sound of their own footsteps coming up the stairs had them both turning their heads in unison as Victoire's voice carried through the door: '_I'm going to show you'. _Then, the stairwell grew quiet again.

"You sure showed me," Teddy admitted with a laugh and a brilliant smile.

"Oh, yeah, umm, Plan B was to dive in the loo if we, from before," she pointed with both hands at the door to the stairwell, "made it in that door before time returned."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Cutting it close?"

She shrugged. "Not enough hours in the day, I hear, but six is a fair stretch."

"Didn't seem so long." He studied her before looking away. She wondered if she had marks from the pillow etched in her face. Teddy started gathering up his things. "I should go nap myself. Give you your desk back." He glanced at the window he'd pulled Victoire out the night before.

_Funny, she hadn't even thought about the previous night at all._

"Late night, last night." A shadow crossed his face for a moment before he continued, almost to himself, "Can't nap. Need to see Iska. Make sure we're ok."

_Oh, her. Right_. Awkward again.

Teddy stood and made his way across the room. At a loss as to what exactly she should do, Victoire stood also, crossing her arms loosely and drumming her fingers on her elbows. He turned at the door. "Gran's back home day after tomorrow. You _are_ going with us, yeah?"

Victoire nodded, moving a hand to lightly finger the charms around her neck.

"Maybe, after classes. She'd like afternoon tea." His hand closed over the door knob, and his head cocked. "Can we do this again?"

"Sure."

_Sure_?


	15. Wagging the Dog

"Made it," Victoire proclaimed with a proud smile when Micah answered her knock.

As class days went, Victoire ranked Thursdays the best. An end-in-sight-day, like a reward for surviving the three leading up to it. With morning _Topics in Contemporary Magic_ lecture and free time during _Intro to Transfiguration_, the fourth weekday never failed to arrive with hope the week might not be the death of her yet.

_Topics _lectures started early, if you cared to take advantage of the complimentary croissants and tea Bimas provided to impress the guest speakers. Micah always cared to, and on the rare occasion, Victoire pulled it together soon enough to join her. Victoire stood in the doorway of Micah and Phineas' suite well pleased with her accomplishment that morning.

Micah didn't seem to notice.

"Look at him, he's totally working Fin."

Victoire's ears and her interest immediately perked at Micah's greeting. She scanned the suite and located Phineas through the slight opening of the door between their respective living areas. The only _he_ in sight sat reading a textbook at his desk with his typical concentration.

She thought she'd misheard Micah's whispered comment until her eyes caught sight of his right hand scratching Diogy behind the ear. The dog's head propped on Phineas' knee with such unmitigated contentment it bordered on reverence.

Micah continued commenting to herself as she loaded quills into her bag like darts. "Dog's never going to listen to me again."

Victoire couldn't help but giggle at the sub-volume rant. "Didn't I hear you tell the dog to _make nice_ not so long ago?" she asked as they left for the stairs.

"Yeah, when Fin might've made a stink and got us thrown out." Micah's voice returned to a normal volume. "I think we're in now. Fuzzbut could back it down a notch. Curling up at his feet, honestly! Who ever heard of ninety pound lap dog?"

Victoire laughed out loud. "You're jealous of Fin!"

"Am not." Micah stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs and met Victoire's amused stare. "And, put the damn eyebrow down." She strode through the entry and held the door open for Victoire to pass.

"I do think we need to find him a woman," she declared, sauntering ahead with renewed determination. "He spends entirely too much time at that desk."

"With your dog worshipping at his feet," Victoire added under her breath. She tossed her fairy wand back to the cabinet inside, tucked her other in her sleeve, and had to double step to the pavement to keep pace.

"Shut up!" Micah said, "Its not right, not right at all."

At the lecture hall, Victoire distanced herself from Micah's blatant scoping of potential prospects she could pimp for her roommate, choosing instead to perch on a desk near the podium and sip her tea. Poor Phineas. He had no idea what might be coming his way - all for a little petting.

The food had disappeared by the time the remainder of their house mates arrived. Barring the _bachelor of the hour, _of course, whose schedule wouldn't cross theirs until the introductory Wandlore lab he assisted.

Teddy grabbed a cuppa and raised the mug slightly in her direction before taking a long draw and, by all indications, savouring the drink. She smiled but stopped herself from returning the discreet toast. Neither had made a conscious decision not to change their patterns outside of their afternoons together. They never discussed it. It simply evolved. A continuation of the conspiracy of the Time-Turner.

The touch of guilt Victoire had often experienced, altering time to any extent, all but disappeared when she invited Teddy into her secret. Rather than limiting her reliance on the relic – to her usual once or _occasionally_ twice a week – those stolen hours offered a new weekday ritual for her. One she had good reason not to share with anyone.

That time, she realized, gave her the same emotional pick-me-up as Thursdays, but spread out over the week. _She loved the idea of it._ She relished the prospect of a reprieve from lost nights and the disappointment of finding answers which begged more questions.

A _daily_ reward for making it through the night.

Not that she disclosed her situation to Teddy. Or even entertained the possibility. No, she took the opportunity to escape her reality rather than bring it into the room with them. She refused to lean on him, not with his time and attention already stretched thin with competing priorities. Not with their friendship feeling comfortable - feeling right - again.

For the moment, Victoire felt content, calm and optimistic. For herself and for Owen.

Owen. She wondered how she was going to keep him calm and optimistic in the hours before they were due to floo to Andromeda's about the wand. She'd be on her own, as Teddy and the rest would be in Transfiguration.

_Owen was like a puppy - if not kept occupied, he'd get himself into trouble. _

Her suspicions were confirmed the minute she flooed to his office an hour and a half later. The place every inch a disaster. Shredded newspaper even littered the floor.

"Wow," she breathed, not knowing where to begin. She saw Owen's lower half sticking out of the largest box. Several other small and medium sized boxes cluttered the floor, spilling out their contents, tattered yellowing newspaper, and squishy white… _things _that creaked when Victoire stepped forward onto a few of them.

She hopped back quickly, fearing she'd damaged something. Owen emerged from inside his box. She guessed the big one proved too large to upend and drop the contents to the floor for examination.

"G'day" he said. One of the squishy things fell from his shoulder.

"Is it?"

"Oh, this. Don' let it worry you." He kicked a path clear for her to move away from the hearth. "Asked the rellies 'bout Mum's stuff. They sent stuff."

"Find anything?"

He shook his head, batting the cover flap back over the big box. "Useful as tits on a bull, this lot," he assessed and scanned the fireplace behind her. "Teddy coming?"

"After class."

"Pommy bastard. No chance to rock up early?"

She shook her head. "No one _rocks up_ on Andromeda until she's expecting them."

Victoire's condition afforded an intimate knowledge of adrenalin and its effects on the body. She detected the signs of it pumping through Owen, propelling him into a state of controlled anticipation. Selfishly, she liked the anticipatory mode better than the low he'd experienced since finishing the wand list empty handed, but she couldn't suppress a niggling worry the current high provided the potential for a longer drop.

"I reckon that leaves us with a long lunch," Owen said, anxious to move on to another activity. "'Less you fancy having a naughty." His eyebrows danced and he gave her a smile that forced her to grin back.

"I'd be afraid of the avalanche," Victoire teased, pushing down her concern. She preferred to stick with distraction and optimism. _Happiness was a warm puppy, after all_. Management of expectations could wait until proven necessary. By then, she'd have Teddy to help.

"What's life without risk?" Owen shot back, but cast a charm sending the clutter around the room into the boxes. A few of the smaller containers bulged over the top and refused to close, but the floor appeared clear. Except, the squishy white things still peppered the carpet.

He surveyed the remaining debris. "Ruddy things defy magic," he commented with a perplexed frown before shrugging and asking, "Muggle or wizard?"

"We're talking about restaurants, right?"

"Oy, I've moved on, love, time you do as well." He smirked and then his expression quickly registered another thought. "Dorothy now thinks you're 'one of my women'," he informed her, approaching the mantle above the hearth.

Grabbing a heavy stein adorned with a logo from last year's Oktoberfest, he extended it to her. A press of his thumb on the top of the pewter handle unhinged the attached lid to expose the glittering silver substance within.

"You set her straight?" Victoire took a small bit of the floo powder.

Owen palmed some for himself before replacing the stein. "Hell no. You class me up."

* * *

Andromeda greeted them in an airy parlour overlooking her gardens and a small pond at the back the house. The cheery colours within the room contrasted a gloomy sky with rolling dark clouds brewing over a greenhouse tucked in a far corner of the modest yard.

Victoire worried their hostess would stand on convention and offer tea as soon as they arrived. She wasn't sure Owen could take it. Catching Teddy's eye, she sensed the same concern in him. Owen hummed with unspent energy, nearly wearing Victoire down before Teddy rescued her after his class.

Andromeda was astute, however, and for all her domesticity and manners, remained at heart a practical woman. She read the situation and the silent communication between her grandson and Victoire. She led them, with minimal preliminaries, to an attic storage area.

Victoire remembered the space from pre-Hogwarts days. The room, with its portraits and heirlooms, had been a test of courage for her and Teddy growing up. Countless dares and lost bets led one of them inside while the other crouched at the door.

"Are you returning my necklace?" a voice accused from a dim corner. The speaker, a woman decked out in a formal robe of deep purple, peeked around the dust cloth covering most of her life size portrait. A cascading swag necklace with a luminescent pendant swayed across the plunging velvet neckline of her robe as she bent to peer through the uncovered portion of her frame.

"I haven't given a moment's thought to your jewellery," Andromeda replied in a flat tone she usually reserved for nosey reporters and tax assessors.

The portrait stiffened with a gasp, mouth wide and hand clasped to her neck in outrage before her fists moved to her hips in an aggressive stance. An admirable achievement given she remained half crouched around the fabric obscuring her view.

Victoire's eyes were drawn to the pendant itself, a likeness of a midnight orchid, the rare magical flower known to spring from the beds of unicorns. The petals reportedly glowed in the moonlight of the deepest parts of the forest. In the portrait, the woman's features appeared all the more sharp in the cool bluish light emitting from its likeness dangling in front of her cleavage.

Andromeda adjusted the dust cover back over the frame, but the voice would not be deterred.

"Never had any respect for your family, allowing a common thief to waltz right in, plundering whatever she pleases. Andromeda! You find that little thief and make her give back the neck - "

Teddy's wand made its way back to his pocket, earning him a grateful smile from his Grandmother. She touched his shoulder with affection as she stepped past the silenced portrait and made her way to the next.

"I often wonder if my sister's olive branch was completely altruistic," she confessed. "I should have taken the plant itself the night I left." She moved to an easel propping up a less audaciously sized portrait and tugged the cloth covering its oval shaped ebony frame. "The family had it for prestige, not its beauty."

"Truer words were never spoken, my dear, your mother plucked the last bloom for that necklace not long after your departure. To outdo Walburga, no doubt."

"Alphard, have you been here the whole time?" Andromeda spoke as she snapped the fabric from his dust cover and proceeded to fold it into a tight, precise square.

"No, child, I was in the Manor portrait when Druella made her appearance." The middle aged wizard with salt and pepper hair sported a beard which thinly surrounded his mouth but flowed from his chin in a thick groomed goatee. The facial hair showcased high cheekbones and a long aristocratic nose, which he looked down as he spoke.

"Old girl launched into a blistering tirade over stolen jewels and ungracious offspring. I, of course, came straight over."

Andromeda humoured him with a sly smile.

"You are, I suspect, immensely interested to learn what I know." Alphard's voice carried equal measures of boredom and arrogance.

Victoire couldn't help wondering what exactly a portrait would rather be doing. _Didn't they have ages to simply hang around?_ She expected one to be eager to break up the monotony of life inside the canvas. _Surely, that accounted for Hogwarts being so overrun with them._

"First," Alphard instructed, "show him to me."

Andromeda, unphased by her uncle's demeanour, beckoned Owen to approach the easel, but not before commenting, "You're relishing this, aren't you?"

Alphard didn't oblige her with an answer, and she gave no indication that she'd expected him to. "Owen Simms," she said waving an open palm to the frame, "may I present to you, Alphard Black."

"Weren't expecting to be a Black yourself, were you lad? You have the colouring, that I'll concede," Alphard surmised, assessing Owen. "The chin, however, that chin is all wrong. Tell me," he demanded, "Where are your Mother's people from?"

"Australia," Owen answered with a casual stroke of his chin, seemingly taking the scrutiny in stride. "And I wasn't _expecting_ anything."

"There might well have been good reason your mother neglected to tell you how she came into possession of this particular wand." Alphard's speech gave every indication of one being delivered from a podium. "Are you sure you want to tread this path?"

Victoire decided she'd been dead wrong in her initial impression. Andromeda was, in fact, dead on. This portrait wasn't bored at all. The show of indifference nothing more than its own form of arrogance, or perhaps, the innate Black mannerisms masking the fact he enjoyed being the centre of attention.

_They weren't getting to tea anytime soon._

"She couldn't tell anything," Owen explained, and Victoire experienced a bristling of hair on the back of her neck. All thoughts of tea left her mind as she witnessed a shift in him. The warm vitality marking his every motion leading up to this meeting hardened a degree.

"Obliviated." His mouth tightened around the word, forcing it out as if every syllable tasted bad.

Victoire whipped her gaze to Teddy, expecting a reaction similar to hers. A reaction she didn't get.

_He knew_.

Looking back to Owen, she saw emotions reflected in the shifting colour of his eyes, but his posture loosened incrementally, by conscious action.

"It wasn't my mother's decision to keep my history from me. Hers was stolen from her." He stared Alphard straight in the eyes. "I'm not afraid of the truth. I want my history back - whatever it is."

The admission served as a catalyst for Owen. A change Victoire witnessed as her thoughts struggled to form themselves around everything she'd processed from the previous moment. And they hadn't even come close to the answers they sought.

Owen projected a seriousness she realized only surfaced when he reacted on instinct to physical threat or faced something deeply personal. Done playing someone else's game, he saw fit to take control of the conversation. "Were you a Death Eater?"

"No," Alphard dismissed the question. His features sharpened with the introduction of a new topic. "Obliviated, you say? Intriguing. Phineas Nigellus fired a charms professor who refused to teach his NEWT students memory spells." He snapped his fingers twice. "I forget his name. Poor sod went on to run for Minister three times solely on the platform that Class Three Memory spells be deemed Unforgivable." He smirked. "I believe he managed a rousing dozen votes on his best attempt."

Owen's disinterest in discussing the topic fuelled his next questions. "Did you have the wand at the time of your death? Why wasn't it buried with you?" He asked in quick succession.

Alphard tossed his head back as if preparing for a good sulk, but that would require an end to his monologues. Instead, he inhaled a long breath. Victoire knew they weren't about to get the short version.

"No wizard readily admits to taking a wand for granted, but I assure you, most do," Alphard began, "Oh, they take care not to be caught without one. That would be akin to being caught with one's pants around one's ankles. I suspect that very reason is why my dear sister opted to bury me without mine." Alphard examined his cuticles and absently buffed his fingernails against his collar. "Truth be told, I'm surprised the wand survived the reading of my will –"

Andromeda stepped in to clarify. "You didn't will Sirius your wand, then?"

The interruption disgruntled Alphard, and Victoire worried they were going to get longer _Life Lessons From the Dead _in retribution. She chanced a glance at Owen. He appeared to be holding up. He'd be fine as long as the discussion moved forward.

She let out a small breath when Alphard conceded and continued, "No, but I rather like to think he came back and claimed the wand after his escape. I was, after all, the one who recognized the potential in him from the beginning-"

"The potential to get under Aunt Walburga's skin, and don't act like it wasn't exactly that," Andromeda said, her intuition kicking in again and prompting her to facilitate further. "You've had your fun, Alphard. Can you tell us anything more?"

He huffed, but his alert gaze didn't miss the slight unfolding of his dust cloth in Andromeda's hands. "The wand was at Grimmauld with Sirius. Phineas Nigellus remembers him with it, though he couldn't use it to any great effect. Falsely accused or not, he was an escaped convict," Alphard added by way of explanation.

"Thank you, Alphard." Andromeda placed the material she'd been holding down on a trunk. Perhaps, dismissing him by way of the dust cloth would have been rude. Andromeda's actions were calculated to offer a degree of respect for her uncle's assistance.

_Teddy's grandmother missed her calling. She had definite Ministry potential._

Andromeda went on to escort the group downstairs with an efficiency any politician would envy. Victoire didn't know precisely where the new information left them, but she was more than fine leaving the portraits behind. She hoped they wouldn't have to resort to Phineas Nigellus. His portrait at Hogwarts loudly summarized her idea to promote house unity with an all school Quidditch team as cramming a complex issue into a nutshell and wrapping a bow around it.

_Lovely man._

The old codger likely wouldn't rattle Owen as easily as he did her, a newly appointed Head Girl trying to prove herself and improve the lives of two students whom she owed her own life. Still, why subject him to the likes of ornery past Head Masters if they could help it.

She hoped Andromeda had a better plan. _Surely some living Order member could fill in a few Grimmauld blanks for them and the portraits could all go hang themselves_.

Victoire watched Owen carefully for reactions and caught Teddy in the act of monitoring as well. The level of pent up energy within their friend rose again to the point where he all but vibrated. Owen held it together through anything as long as there was action involved. Waiting was his downfall, and that day it came in the form of the tea service back in the parlour.

One forever-feeling hour later, Hagrid squeezed himself through the floo. His size swept the soot from the chimney onto the hearth with him. Andromeda Scourgified him and Tergoed her rug in two graceful moves of her wand while making introductions. Owen's eyes widened at the sight of Hagrid but his relief at having something, anything, happen glossed over any curiosity regarding the unusual proportions of the newest guest.

"Minerva sends 'er regrets. She passed along the pictures yeh asked fer. Added a few o' my own."

Hagrid pulled a binder from an inside pocket of his robe, wiping a meaty hand over the cover and dislodging another dusting of soot before handing it to Andromeda. Andromeda spread the contents out on a small reading table by the window. There weren't many pictures, less than a dozen. One Victoire recognized from her parent's wedding. One group shot included Teddy's parents, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore. Victoire guessed that one was from the Order of the Phoenix and the other's in the shot were members as well.

Owen picked up the Order picture and surveyed it in the light from the window. The likeness most people associated with Sirius Black stemmed from a Wanted poster, the only adult image the general public had access to see. This photo captured a less haggard appearance and grooming that allowed an unobstructed view of his features.

Andromeda watched Owen study the image from her seat on the upholstered wingback chair next to the table. Teddy stood close behind, resting a hand on the back of her chair. "These pictures don't do him justice," she said. "Confinement was … difficult for him."

"Do you think I look like him?"

"I was thinking how much you act like him, actually," Andromeda replied after a pause. "You have the same amount of energy."

Victoire walked over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Owen and took a closer look at the image in his hand. "I think you look like your Mum, but you all have the same hair and eye colour …"

"Molly always did say Sirius was in love w' himself." Hagrid chuckled, settling himself on a sturdy loveseat opposite the window where the rest of the group had gathered. "But, weren't any Muggles in Grimmauld Place. House had ever' protection ward known to wizards. Besides, nobody'd subject 'em to the likes o' Walburga."

"She was involved with the war efforts, though." Through the hotel chain, Victoire was certain she remembered Owen telling them. She swivelled her head and asked his profile, "How did you learn about that if your mother didn't tell you?"

"The Head Master of my school. Some families relocated through the hotel portals stayed down under after the war. I heard their stories. They knew of Mum and Uncle Joe, but couldn't identify the wizard who set up their escape."

"Then, Uncle Joe…" Victoire halted, not wanting to say the word. "Him too?"

Out of the corner if her vision, she caught the answer from Teddy's look a heartbeat too late. A terse nod was Owen's response, his eyes remained on the photograph. Victoire shot Teddy a helpless look and made her way past him.

_Obliviation, boat sinking, girlfriends out of nowhere – what else didn't she know? These boys didn't talk. _How was she supposed to be supportive if they didn't give with some details. _She really needed to start asking more leading questions._

To her relief, Owen continued without further prompting. "Sixth year, the father of a friend from school approached Joe – filled in some of the blanks for him – and proposed resurrecting the old war portals for recreational travel. Figured out how it was done, never who."

"Had to have been some level of Order involvement," Teddy said, looking at Hagrid for confirmation.

The big man shrugged. "Only Dumbledore knew ever'thin. Safer tha' way."

"When did Sirius replace Alphard's wand?" Teddy's question drew all eyes to him. "Wasn't Alphard's he fought with at the Department of Mysteries."

"Ay," Hagrid confirmed, picking up an enlarged version of one of Andromeda's cups her teapot had poured for him upon his arrival. "Wandless served him better'n that one. Spent some time in Romania with Charlie. Took tha' trip as Bill, mind you. Supplied the bicorn horn for the Polyjuice myself."

"He got a new wand there?" Teddy clarified.

"Only place he could. Was confined to Grimmauld, near ever' day, not long after tha' trip." The memory passed like a shadow over Hagrid's features.

"I understand why Sirius couldn't simply buy another wand," Victoire said, trying to channel her thoughts into something productive, "but why'd someone else take an unreliable, used wand? Who'd have need?"

"Wand mightn't have been unreliable for everyone," Andromeda corrected. "Order wands weren't uncommon. Alastor Moody insisted Nymphadora take a second wand on Order assignments as her wand was registered with the Auror office."

Hagrid nodded in agreement. "Lots of dif'rent reasons. Remus lef' his wand at Grimmauld when he infiltrated the werewolf camp. Hid a spare in the woods, fer emergency. Would'a been confiscated and snapped, fer sure, had they found it."

Andromeda shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. "It was war. Wands were lost or damaged in the fighting, Death Eaters kidnapped Ollivander, replacement wands were difficult to come by. My own Ted and his brother Jack took as many wands as they could from the snatchers. Wands which were, in turn, traded underground to the resistance."

"Any member could've gotten the wand from Sirius," Teddy said. A thoughtful frown drew his brows down.

"Now, I know what yer thinkin and yeh can get it right out of yer head," Hagrid assured. "Remus didn't leave because of another woman, yer can be sure of that."

"What?"

Teddy's tentative question pulled Victoire out of her own thoughts.

"He said it couldn't be your dad," she affirmed, nodding to Hagrid. Teddy's eyes cut to hers for an instant before his gaze fixed on Andromeda. Owen's nervous energy seemed to be infecting everyone in the room. _Not helpful._

She refocused on the wand, picking up Owen's leather scabbard and extracting the enigmatic link to a chaotic past. An elitist wand in a souvenir cover adorned with the logo of a primarily muggle hotel chain - maybe tomorrow she'd appreciate the humour. She imagined the yew gleaming in the hands of the privileged Alphard. _Likely didn't work too hard, then, did you?_ At some point, though, a splinter near the tip had been lost, the surface around it pocked with blast dents. Superficial, but no doubt a close call_._

_But, whose close call?_

How could they know who held it? The wand could have been lost in the woods, lost in a skirmish, picked up by anyone. _Merlin, they might never get an answer._

A flash of green brightened the room and Nana Molly stepped from the floo in a flurry, fiddling with her handbag. "So sorry to be late, my dears. Service at the Apothecary. Nothing like it used to be." She beamed at Victoire and Teddy, approaching each in turn, with a thorough hug by which she evaluated their health, nutrition and sleep habits in a manner any Healer would envy.

Molly shooed Andromeda back down when she made a move to stand, pecking her old friend on the cheek. "All right, dear? You're so pale," Molly assessed.

Andromeda's quite assurances satisfied her, though. _Apparently, non descendents get off easy_.

Reaching Owen, she clasped the tops of his arms, her handbag hanging from the crook of her elbow. "I'm Molly. Have they sorted you out yet?"

Owen's head moved back slightly, but he gave her a half smile. "Not quite. We've traced the wand to the Order. Bit dodgy from there." Owen reached into his pocket and produced a picture he brought. The same one Victoire had seen in his office at the hotel. "Maybe you remember her?"

Molly squinted at the picture but shook her head, an apology in her eyes.

Andromeda held her hand out for the picture. _Needing something to focus on as well_, Victoire thought, as she was certain Andromeda had seen the photo earlier. Andromeda studied the image again, not seeming to register anything. She made a motion to pass it back to Owen, but Victoire, closer, added the picture with the scabbard she intended to hand back herself.

Andromeda, about to offer Victoire her thanks, grasped her arm instead, pulling the hand holding the wand in its scabbard closer. "Simms Hotel," she stated, reading the logo. "Merlin! I've seen this crest." Andromeda stood, excused herself, and made her way back upstairs.

Five seconds later, Teddy followed without a word.

Victoire stared after him before swinging her gaze back to Owen who visibly struggled with the desire to head up the stairs himself. She handed him the picture and wand, offering what reassurance she could in a squeeze of the hand.

Molly busied herself fixing a glass of tea in the wake of Teddy and Andromeda's departure. "Is Minerva about?"

"A touch under the weather since her return," Hagrid explained with a shake of his head. "Second trip 'cross the pond supportin' Order friends. Getin' to be a habit. One tha's needin' brakin', mind yeh."

'"That's two friends in the course of a year who've lost children in their prime," Molly replied, her plump face settling into a deep frown. "No one should have to outlive their children."

_What is prime when you're their age?_ Victoire wondered. Hagrid seemed ageless and Nana Molly hadn't slowed down much, at least in her fussing, but she remembered how tired and frail McGonagall looked after her journey the past summer.

She'd assumed the funeral had been for an order member themselves, not for anyone near her age. "How'd they die?"

"Quidditch accident for one. We still don't know about Becca," Molly answered. "Her mother couldn't handle the loss."

"Spent near ev'ry hour o' the days an' nights after, in Becca's room, see."

"That's not healthy," Victoire said.

"Indeed," Molly agreed. "She passed away within a month of her daughter's funeral."

An image of her own mother came to Victoire's mind, sitting over her hospital bed after she'd been found in the forest. _The bed had been a joke._ Victoire had been stuck in bird form – again - not by lack of knowledge that second time but by lack of strength. Yet, Fleur insisted her bird have a bed for the moment she was strong enough to change back. Victoire could barely chirp, but her mother never left her side, never treated her as anything but the child she raised.

She shivered at the thought of how close she'd come to not seeing eighteen. The sound of footsteps drew her attention to the stairs. Her eyes made their way to Teddy, for reassurance, perhaps. A habit she'd picked back up with alarming speed.

This time, however, a vague, unsettled feeling came over her as she watched him carry down a medium cauldron box labelled 'Tonks'. His expression unfathomable. A stiffness diminished his normal loose-limbed gait.

_Something was very not right._

Andromeda led the way to the table near the window and gathered the pictures out of the way for Teddy to place the round box on its surface. Teddy unsnapped the two clasps on either side and lifted the lid off by its handle. The box, sized to fit a standard student cauldron, contained personal items instead.

"Ted's?" Molly leaned in, teacup in hand, a mixture of curiosity and surprise in her expression.

Andromeda pulled out something hard, shiny and white with the hotel crest on the front and a thick black line on the back.

Owen's eyes lit up. "That's a key."

"Key?" This bit of_ petrified parchment that appears to be varnished._

"See if there's anything else you recognize," Andromeda offered Owen, stepping away.

"I never received personal effects from Ted," she replied to Molly. "He took little to nothing when he left. This box was delivered after Jack's death."

Owen pulled a ring out of the box. "By who?"

"The man who married Teddy's parents." Andromeda's words halted for a glance at a quiet Teddy before she continued, "And likely everybody else with Order affiliations during the second war."

"The key is a connection," Teddy spoke then. His voice, hallow on the first words, picked up strength as he focussed on fully on Owen. "An important one. Another connection, and you may have your proof."

The gold ring rested in the palm of Owen's hand. He ran a finger around the Celtic knot pattern adorning the band. "What can you tell me about Jack?"

Andromeda's smile was slow and sly. "If anyone could pull off the portals you described – undetected – Jack could."

"Ay," Hagrid nodded his head enthusiastically, "Good man an'a right clever wizard, he was."

Andromeda put her hand over Owen's palm holding the ring and gave a supportive squeeze. "He wasn't one for embellishments. If he kept this with him, it meant something. Maybe, we need to drop the wand. Start tracing this for a while."

"Any sign of a jewellery box in the mess in your office?" Victoire asked, fingering her own charm necklace. "Mum says the jewellery a woman chooses to wear tells something about her, but the best stories – her history – can be found in the items she doesn't wear but chooses to keep in her jewellery box."

"If the mate was hers," Owen qualified, shoulders sagging a fraction, "she wouldn't have known where it came from."

Victoire reached up to rub one of his shoulders. "What if somewhere, deep down, she felt its importance - enough to keep, even if she didn't understand why."

"Its a long shot, mate." Teddy addressed Owen, after throwing Victoire a quick glance that begged caution on the build up of romanticized scenarios. "But, you always bet the long shots."


	16. The Allure of Other People's Drama

**The Allure of Other People's Drama**

"So, d'he find the ring?" Micah prompted again as they approached the turnstile gate leading into the reserve and, for them, the Bimas campus.

Victoire shook her head. The notion had been romantic and contrived. _Teddy tried to warn her._

"Would've been a great story if he had," Micah commented with an impish smile.

Victoire wasn't so sure. "Would mean his dad was dead." They weren't writing history, they were trying to dig it up. _Something she'd remind herself of regularly going forward._

Micah half shrugged. "Not every story gives a tidy ending. Some just end."

Frowning, Victoire raked the hair from her face and flicked off several loose strands she'd brushed out with the motion. The sun was fickle in November. That day it danced shyly on the edge of reach, leaving the girls filtered in the shadows of clouds for most of their walk. She wondered at the tricks the indirect light played, casting Micah's features in an expression approaching detachment after her last statement.

Victoire shook her head to clear her thoughts. "He's off to Ireland now, after the man who brought Andromeda the box." Odd to be going to class as Owen continued his search, but she was, living up to her obligations and hoping he'd have his ending soon_._ She'd made him promise three times to owl her every day he was gone.

Phineas caught up with them at the gate, falling in queue behind a family of muggles kitted up to spend their day hiking the reserve. He consulted a parchment as they cleared the turnstile and headed toward one of the lab buildings dominating their campus.

Bimas devoted most of its resources to research. The student program felt sometimes like a necessary evil. The top percentage of the institution's student applicants positioned themselves for research fellowships offered after they reached a required amount of credits. The offerings varied depending on the current interests of the Bimas administration and available funds secured through blatant catering to private parties with the lure of advancing practical applications of magic. Classrooms were essentially the tryouts for the big game. Victoire, a representative of the other student percentage, considered herself a glorified seat warmer. She was learning, of course, but couldn't shake the idea that her contribution consisted of more the tuition she paid, which also went to help the top tier move on to the significant work.

Victoire appraised Phineas, thinking how easily he fit in. Even without her unique assistance, another dubious contribution, she was certain he'd have his pick of placements at the end of the term.

"What's so interesting, Fin?" she asked, bringing his gaze up from the parchment.

"Notes for today's lab," he replied, shifting his book bag to the opposite side. "We'll be banishing boggarts."

Victoire scoffed. "We did those sixth year."

Phineas produced an evil grin. Victoire did a double take. _Yes, definitely evil._

"Not wandless."

Micah's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely." Phineas used his free hand to open the door for them to enter the building. "Not everyone'll be able to. Lab's an experiment on how stress affects your relationship with magic."

"What if stress negatively affects your relationship?" Victoire asked. That's when things get blown up, out of control. _Feathers fly_.

"I'll be on hand if anyone needs assistance," Phineas assured, glancing at Victoire on the word 'anyone', before he returned his attention to his notes.

"What's your boggart?" Micah asked him.

There was the slightest pause. He didn't look up. "Peeves."

"Oh," Victoire said in a knowing tone as she gave Phineas a sympathetic smile, "did he pick on you?"

"I'm not scared of _him_."

"Peeves who?" Micah asked. "And, where does he get off picking on little Fin?"

Phineas stopped and looked down at her. Victoire chuckled. Micah reminded her of a pigmy puff Dominique once had who didn't know it was small. They both had personalities so big they commanded far more space in the world than their physical forms required.

Still smiling, Victoire answered, "Peeves was a Hogwarts poltergeist."

"Poltergeist. That fits," Micah commented looking up to where Phineas towered over her. He cocked his head , narrowing his eyes, and she continued, "Embodiment of disorder." She shrugged. "Just saying."

"I suppose you have a point," he begrudged. He turned to Victoire. "Boggarts aren't always literal."

"Mine is," Victoire replied as they approached the lab room, a theatre style auditorium with rows of chairs elevated from a stage in the centre. A podium and a small latched wooden box occupied the stage for the day's practical lab exercise. Teddy, Armond, and a Ravenclaw from Victoire's year named Stuart blocked the door as they debated seating options.

Armond caught sight of Phineas and called out, "Oi, professor junior, what're we doing today? Anything worth seeing or shall I pick a more snooze inducing setting?"

"Boggarts," Phineas replied as he strode past the group to prep.

"Wandless," Micah added in his wake.

"Excellent." Armond gave a toothy grin and pointed his friends down the aisle with a flourish. "Front row, then, gents. Always a good show, boggarts. Anyone want to wager best?"

"I'm in," Stuart called winking at Victoire, "I'll take Victoire for creepiest."

"Thanks, I'm flattered," Victoire returned as the group followed Armond down into the hall.

"Come on, you can't beat a good vamp for creepy." Stuart fell in step beside her. "Gave half the girls in my house nightmares for days. What was it he said: 'I love to watch you breath' ?"

_I love to watch you breath, knowing your heart is racing for me. Your struggle brings such exquisite colour to your skin._

"Your boggart is literal and a vampire," Micah cut in. She blocked the aisle with her hands on her hips. "More, please."

"Wait." Armond snapped his fingers twice. "Was that the cover up couple years ago? Vampires?" He pointed to Victoire and his voice carried, drawing the attention of several other classmates.

"No, that's not right." Stuart's brows furrowed. "We did boggarts January. You disappeared spring Hogsmead."

"Vampires? Disappearance?" Teddy locked eyes with Victoire.

She opened her mouth, but was cut off by a loud throat clearing. The professor eyed them all. "Today, please," his amplified voice carried through the room.

Victoire ducked around everyone and slid down in the nearest empty seat, eyes on her feet. Someone passed to drop down beside her. He made no attempt to speak, for which she was grateful, but she knew who he was by the tempo of his breaths. The revelation that she was so aware of another's breathing made the hair on her arms stand up.

Her mind raced back to the alley.

_Back to a fight for all she was worth. A fight in vain. _

_Her chest had heaved with the need for oxygen as limbs had twisted for freedom. Recognition dawned - her struggles were having no effect. He hadn't been the least bit laboured for his effort in pinning her. Then, the moment of realization. _

_He hadn't been breathing at all. _

_His words emitted on an arid cloud surrounding her in an unnatural staleness. The shock had given way to something inside her. Then a release. From the grip. From the ground. From the alley. _

An astringent sensation in her mouth, precursor to the adrenalin building in her veins, forewarned her impending transformation. She took her own deep breath and forced the memory from her mind. She had to keep control of her emotions even in the face of the vampire she was due to see again in class. Like the evening in the alley, she wouldn't have a wand, but she'd recognize the force inside herself.

She had to remain calm.

"A wand is a tool to focus the magic around you," the professor lectured. Victoire concentrated on the words, relying on the smooth, practiced articulation to settle her nerves. "In times of stress, it's possible to tap into that magic without a wand. Children manage all the time. As we rely on our wands more, we lose a level of affinity with the magic around us. Truly extraordinary wizards build that affinity, which not only allows them the flexibility not to be reliant on the wand but also amplifies the effectiveness of a wand when used."

"Let's get going, shall we?" He motioned for Phineas to approach the box. "Wands down. Approach one at a time. When you're done, feel free to observe the remainder of the class or leave for the day. Two feet of parchment due next lab on the experience."

Deciding sooner was better, Victoire made her way down without hesitation. She slid in behind Micah, close to the front of the line. "Anxious?" she asked, hoping she could get Micah to let her go first.

"If I get out of her now, I can pick up an extra shift," she explained.

Victoire nodded, trumped.

The first three students were unable to vanquish the boggart without their wand. Micah approached, releasing the unmistakable form of a black dog bounding out of the box. The image of Diogy wheezed without warning and shuddered to a stop. The great black dog dropped to convulsions in front of them. Victoire gasped at the sight. Her gaze snapped to Phineas, standing behind the dying dog.

He paled visibly, unmoving.

Victoire cut back to the boggart when the form of the single dog burst into a dozen black puppies all chasing their own tails. Micah took a breath and exhaled, turning on her heel as if she'd never seen the image of her constant companion writhing before her. Victoire couldn't move.

The professor cleared his throat, bringing Victoire, and Phineas, back to attention. She had no choice but to step up, braced for the form of the vampire to emerge in front of her. _She_ _would not let him intimidate her now._ The shifting form jetting out of the box flashed and gathered into itself, never springing forward over her. The glow faded, growing smaller, forming a simple white flower.

Stunned, she sucked her lips in with a sharp breath and clamped her teeth down, shutting any sound inside. A pounding in her ears drowned out the speculative chatter in the room around her.

Broken at the stem, the flower wilted in front of her. The purity of its colour clouding as the dewy texture of the petals gave way to cracks and flakes.

She wasn't prepared for this. _Her bogart was a vampire. _

A vampire she was prepared for.

Seeing this… there was no way to make _this_ anything less than terrifying.

She stood paralyzed. Unsure of how much time passed before Peeves sprang in front of her, taunting and winding up – midair - with a pail of something thick and green. In an instant, the bucket became a thick binder, neatly tabbed with colour coded labels and matching the dull beige double breasted robes of the Ministry finance office.

Victoire turned her back on the box and met the intent faces in the line behind her. Chatter and scattered laughter replaced the ringing in her ears. She summoned her books on her way out the door, grateful for classmates loitering in the aisles effectively hindering Teddy's attempt to follow.

In the hall, she walked fast. Away. The noise of the Wandlore lab gave way to voices in her head – McGonagall, Grant, her father. She replayed them all as she grabbed her head and steadied her breathing.

_She froze._ _Yes. Yes, she did. She didn't have control_. That, she'd have to admit.

_She didn't loose control, either, though._ Not completely. She came back from the edge. She didn't fly off it.

She continued to assure herself as she paced unoccupied halls. Craving isolation. She didn't want to speak until certain her breath wouldn't betray her. She'd make sure she was fine first.

Victoire ducked into the loo, on edge but calming. Not alone in the bathroom, she did have a moment of relative privacy to splash water on her face while her only companions carried on a conversation from within their respective stalls.

It took a moment for their words to make sense.

"… scarier than a vampire?"

"Obsessed with her looks, that's what. Already worried about losing them at eighteen. How pathetic."

Victoire quietly left the bathroom before the bints showed their faces.

* * *

Phineas found her in the tiny closet of a lab they shared for independent study two hours later. She knew him by the outline of his frame, backlit from the light of the hall. The rangy build of a distance runner, stretching the height of the door but not obstructing the width.

"I expected a vampire." Her voice reached him from the darkness of the room. "Been a vampire since he cornered me in an alley on the muggle side of the Leaky. Two blocks down …" She caught herself rambling and shook her head clear. He knew the details of the first transformation. She'd only held back the emotions of it.

She never, ever touched on the second uncontrolled shift.

Phineas lit his wand and pulled the door closed behind him. Grateful he didn't turn on the harsh lights suspended from the ceiling, she suppressed a fleeting thought the action was as much for his own ease as hers. She was genuinely surprised he came. Alone. A potentially emotional girl hit well outside Phineas' comfort zone.

Victoire herself developed a new awareness of how awkward empty space could be. The only thing she could think to do was continue filling it.

"It broke because I landed on it when I dropped." Words now tumbled from her. "Wilted because I lacked the strength to move off. I watched it die slowly over three days, unable to do anything else. Unable to see anything else."

Victoire shuddered at the memory of her own life draining from her while the flower withered and dried up. Her world reduced to a searing pain which couldn't dull the loneliness of death arriving with nobody around to find her. Even after she was gone. She gave up hope, believed she'd disintegrate into nothing, alone on those browning petals.

Her life reduced to dust on the soil.

"You're here today." His words a statement of fact, direct and unadorned. They brought her up short to stare at his form in the dimness.

"But I'm not handling it," she pleaded with him to understand her desperation. "I'm not at all. Everything is slipping. I can feel it. If something as common as a bad dream -"  
She stopped. Horrified she'd admitted too much.

_Couldn't she go back to worrying about someone else's drama? Much safer that way._

"May have seemed a nightmare, but it didn't set you off." Phineas spoke with reassurance but continued to maintain the distance between them. "Don't you see? You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

She looked away. _How could he think so when she'd cowered in the dark, avoiding everyone yet wanting someone to find her_.

"It's a fear," he continued. "We all have them, but its not an imminent threat."

"Fear is a threat. The biggest." A humourless laugh escaped her. "You know what set me off the second time?"

He might. She'd been cornered in the Three Broomsticks. Not private at all.

"No vampire," she admitted with a wry smile. "A petty, puny Hufflepuff."

She didn't have to watch him to know he was processing everything, putting together details from her words and his own memories. He'd have been preparing for NEWTS when the scandal broke with elaborate theories of sixth year Victoire running away from Hogwarts, and a pint sized bully, in an attention craving fit of drama. Her transformations would never be public knowledge. Phineas got that piece to the puzzle when he accepted the independent study with her, and now he was fitting together the rest.

"Hogsmeade weekend," he stated. "What did she do?"

_Not who_. Didn't matter really, and he recognized that. The truth was in the what, the why, and the how.

"Said I left my window open for _easy access_." She'd ignored the rumours for a month and could think of several juvenile whys that would've prompted them. "When that didn't get a big enough reaction, she kept on till she found something that did." Victoire propped her forehead in her laced fingers and massaged her temples with the pads of her thumbs.

"You transformed," Phineas filled in when she remained silent. "Flew to the Forbidden Forest."

"Not sure I'd call it flying, more slamming around then into a rather solid tree." She looked out from her hands. "Butterbeer. Hadn't even finished the glass before _the scene_." The flight was a blur of impaired instinct, overtaken by emotion an animal couldn't possibly process and a metabolism unprepared for any of it. She'd made it surprisingly deep into the forest before she dropped on that single unfortunate bloom.

"You survived."

The flight out had been painful and compulsory. Summoned to the hand of a first year by the first spell he'd learned to cast. She'd lost consciousness well before and never heard the incantation, but Al told her it went something like: _What's the plan Potter. Accio Victoire?_

If he hadn't been taunting Al at the time, the spell probably wouldn't have had the reach to bring her the distance from deeper in the forest where she laid.

The sound of movement, his feet padding around the table where he propped against the counter opposite her, brought her back to the present. "You know what its like to owe Scorpius Malfoy, for anything, in my family?"

His words, when they came, were deliberate. "We all need help sometime, Victoire."

She almost asked the last time he did. "I'd rather be helping," she sulked instead, thinking how likely Sara would have said the same thing. Actually, probably did when she went through these things with Victoire at the time.

A pang of guilt shot through Victoire. She hadn't even hinted to Sara about her latest issue. Life in letters spun effortlessly into a view limited to what you wanted portrayed, and an ocean was a sizable enough buffer to throw even the most intuitive person off the mark. She couldn't replace Sara with Phineas. Not to mention, Phineas, his discomfort palpable though his deliberately chosen supportive words, deserved to be let off the hook here. He was trying, he had calmed her, but he wasn't what she needed. She wasn't sure what, but as much as she appreciated the effort, she needed something else.

* * *

Darkness hadn't quite given way to the new day when she climbed the four flights of steps to her room_._ The house wasn't quiet, but the noises were night noises, structural sounds. Oddly comforting in a lifeless kind of way. Her numbed mind pondered the liberation of staying up all night on purpose, wishing she had a better reason prompting her defiance against sleep.

The sole sign of life emerged at the top of the attic staircase. He stood, unravelling himself stiffly from the landing outside her door. She gave no indication of surprise at his vigil in the dimness. Whether because of her tired nerves or because he was Teddy, whose presence she never questioned, she wasn't sure.

The last words he spoke to her had been a question. Time had come for answers. She held a vague memory of wanting some of her own, but had never followed through with the asking. _Teddy intended to follow through_. She read that in the set of his jaw, recognizing the purpose which had always offered his affable personality a sense of weight. A particular balance she hadn't seen in him since his return.

"You, uh, hadn't heard anything about what went on while you were gone?" she started, wondering at his choice of cramping himself on the hard wood landing in the pose of a street urchin. The tape from the door was gone, so he'd taken the step to ensure she wasn't waiting out the interruption inside, but stopped short of loitering in her space for her return.

He shook his head, looking down the few steps where she stopped to let the wall hold her up by her shoulder. "Thought anything important would have come from you."

"Not quite dinner conversation," she conceded, "and I wasn't sure you were into sharing." Pushing herself upright and nodding an invitation at the door behind him, she followed him into the room. The first light of the day hung on the horizon, not yet breaking beyond the rooftops visible out the open window.

"His Mum's story should've come from him," he stated when she turned from the window.

She wondered what the fact, Owen not confiding in her, signalled to Teddy. Though outwardly supportive of her friendship with Owen, Victoire caught an occasional look on Teddy's face when the three were together. Owen also mitigated his behaviour in slight ways when Teddy was around. _Maybe she had poached Owen from Teddy, a little_.

Teddy pulled a parchment from his pocket to extend in her direction. "This came while you were out."

She opened the note, scanning the brief message scrawled with strong strokes in the middle of the parchment. _So this was Owen's handwriting_. His quill didn't merely slide the ink over the surface but impressed the words into the paper, underscoring the weight of their meaning. Owen had found his answer in Jack Tonks, Teddy's great uncle.

"Wow. Just wow," she slid into the chair. "You're cousins. How's that?"

"You first," he challenged, swivelling her chair to face the bed and sitting himself down on the mattress across from her. No chance he'd accept her distraction.

_Damn. Unfair, really, Owen's news was big while her story… well, just damn_.

She was cornered, and sitting themselves in her room as if they were discussing class readings for the afternoon, she told him. About the vampire near Diagon Alley, the sessions with McGonagall, her abrupt acquaintance with the tree in the Forbidden Forest. Reliving everything once more that day, she began to take an observer's approach to the tale.

Several house of walking – not flying – around Bimas had taken the edge off the boggart for her. She was calmer, more distant, with the retelling. She even managed the tiniest of smiles when he picked up the fact she didn't divulge her specific Animagus form. She held on to that fact and some of the more personal details of the Hogsmead incident, focussing instead on Al and his determination. How the boy never believed she left on purpose. How, when he couldn't leave Hogwarts to look for her, he stole away to brave the only place he could reach, the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. How Scorpius' drive to catch Al at something brought him on the heels of her cousin.

And so, she was rescued, quite by accident, in the hands of two pint sized quarrelsome kids whose time was usually spent trying to one up each other. _Fate had a hell of a sense of humour sometimes._

Teddy frowned at the tale of the first years. Al's cold reception bothered him still, she could tell. He couldn't reconcile the sullen kid he'd encountered with the hero who'd earned a 'Special Service to the School' trophy when they saved her.

"It'll be good to see him again," she said, offhand, as she gauged his reaction. He puzzled at her comment. "Al," she clarified her topic change. "At Hogwarts this weekend. Aren't you going to the interschool exhibition?"

"The what?"

"Hogwarts is hosting a Quidditch exhibition with a tournament between schools," she explained.

"Since when?"

"Last year. I mean, it's no World Cup, but the stands get packed with, oh, just everybody." The conversation had veered from her intended goal, and she considered the wisdom of a re-approach. "Didn't Harry mention it to you?" Teddy had flooed to Harry's straight from Andromeda's after they found the hotel key and the ring, so she knew Teddy had talked to his Godfather. "He and Ginny are sure to be there. Al and James are participating."

Rather than bringing Teddy back to topic, the mention of Harry proved the opposite effect. She'd been lost as to what connection Harry might've had to Owen's search, but Owen had found his connection to his father in the man that married his parents. _So, what remained?_ Remembering Teddy's edginess at Andromeda's and watching him here, she dreaded the answer.

"Harry and I … no, we … something else." Had his words not been so vague they might've qualified as a stammer. _Teddy didn't stammer_.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "What are you not telling me?"

He searched her face, and she feared he wouldn't share his thoughts. The silence dragged on and for once she didn't rush to fill it. She couldn't. She was in the dark, but now she realized it.

"He left her," he stated flatly. "When he found out about me."

She inhaled a sharp breath. Same conversation, different context and how quickly the world changed.

She had no words. _How could she have missed that? _She focussed on him, leaning forward to place a hand over his.

W_e all need help sometime._

She longed to be articulate and supportive but wasn't sure where to begin. She tried to offer the kind of strength and understanding he'd always provided. The efforts came off somewhat clumsy, she thought, but his appreciation for the attempt was genuine.

Surprised to find how thoroughly Teddy's vulnerability fascinated her, Victoire grew bolder, encouraging him to confide and to lean on her. The more he did, the more relief swept through her. She truly preferred someone else's drama.

The eventual sounds of housemates waking below told them the night was gone. At the rumble in her stomach, Victoire had to admit how long it'd been since she ate. Teddy took her suggestion for food with relief. Basic human needs, when easily met, provided comfort in their simplicity. A reprieve they both felt they'd earned.

The kitchen was alive with passing bodies, grabbing tea and breakfast food on the run. The immersion house program required attendance for a certain number of meals a week which effectively repelled most thoughts of lingering for meals outside of those compulsory gatherings.

They missed Phineas and Diogy leaving for their daily run, but Micah, freshly showered, popped down to survey the leftover containers in the refrigerator, her version of breakfast. She'd missed Victoire's miserable performance in the bogart lab, commenting only on their early rising and offering the pair some Thai food before taking a separate container upstairs with her.

Teddy opted for cereal, giving the 'date leftovers' a loaded look. Victoire returned the gesture when he reached for one of his fancy gillywater bottles, sticking her tongue out at him and popping the lid, before giving the contents a covert sniff and warming it up. She chocked on the second bite, coughing and wheezing as a spicy bit of something burned down the wrong way.

Pounding her chest twice, she grabbed Teddy's bottle, the only liquid in reach, and swigged a huge drink. She managed to force the bit of food down with the help of Teddy tapping her back. Tears welled in her eyes and she experienced an unpleasant recollection of choking down the gillyweed for her dive to the Mervilliage. Vowing never to drink gillywater again, she'd barely recovered when she seized up with a cramp so strong and so swift it doubled her over. Her entire body went flush and hot.

She'd never felt so ill.


	17. That Which Does Not Kill Us

**That Which Does Not Kill Us**

"Sure you feel up to going today?"

The question elicited an a strong wave of deja vu. Victoire recalled no more than scant fractions of consciousness from the previous day, _thank Merlin_, because what she did remember went beyond unpleasant. When she emerged from bed with enough energy to take a shower, she had all the proof of mobility she needed. She was not missing the tournament.

She stepped out the door and closed it behind her with a decisive whack. "I'm looking forward to it."

Teddy scrutinized her in a manner uncomfortably reminiscent of her mother, who was thankfully in France or Victoire suspected he would have called her in for reinforcement. He refrained from lecturing about the dangers of questionable leftovers, though, so she couldn't rightly call him a nag. _ Not after he offered his quilt for her comfort_. She had a vague impression of him carrying her upstairs and clung to the hope he hadn't held her hair while she retched.

A poke in the shoulder as she passed encouraged him to leave the subject and go with her. She conceded only to allow him to Apparate them both to the gates of Hogwarts, where inside a gypsy colony of tented vendor booths crowded the path from castle to pitch. The grounds were loud and active, and Victoire tried to absorb the energy surrounding her.

The air, chilly but dry, promised to stay that way. The bracing wind expected to remain, reviving her, she hoped, for the duration of several flight exhibitions scheduled up to the tournament matches. Teddy escorted her to the pitch to stake their spot in the stands for the day.

If she squinted, she could almost pretend she and Teddy were still students themselves.

School banners replaced house banners on towers around the pitch, adding confusion for attendees conditioned to be in areas re-sectioned for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The other schools didn't need the banners as they were united in a sea of dark red or light blue. Hogwarts supporters outnumbered the rest, but the visual effect across the seats was diluted by the mixture of house colours prominent in their clothing, creating more of a a disorganised hodge-podge than a unified front.

Rose and Dominique spotted the pair in the crowd, leaving their tower and meeting them with enthusiastic hugs on their way down the stands.

"Ahh, miss me?" Victoire teased her sister. She suspected Dominique was more happy than disappointed to see her graduate. They got along fine, but of all the siblings, Dominique was the one who would have flourished as an only child.

Dominique tossed her head and rolled her eyes. "Miss borrowing your clothes, maybe."

"Ha, right, you hate my taste in everything but muggle clothes."

The younger blonde shrugged, but Rose was quick on the response, "You always left money in the pockets."

"Good to know," Victoire said over Teddy's chuckle. "Al around?" she asked, knowing that would quiet Teddy down.

"You'd think," Dominique scanned the crowd as she answered, "but he's not up for another hour, and you know Slytherins, nothing ever starts before they arrive so no reason to be early." Her gaze halted on a group of students clustered by the edge of the pitch, the intended target for her trip down the tower, no doubt. The girls went off in pursuit.

The pitch had been enlarged by a full tier of seats per tower. The addition offered better views of the sky, but Victoire's determined yet sluggish climbing pace had Teddy grabbing her elbow and directing her to an empty bench in the lowest section.

"You going to be pushing Al all day?" he asked when they were seated, watching the warm-ups on the pitch. "He doesn't have to like me, you know. " His eyes remained focussed away from her. "I can't make him."

"You try?"

"If he wants to be pissed I left -" he waved a dismissive hand. "I needed to do it. You understand."

_Not always_. Victoire debated pursuing the topic. Teddy never fully explained what he did accomplish in all that time and maybe there was nothing to accomplish. Maybe the journey was all he needed. But Victoire, if she were completely honest, she felt a little cheated. She expected _something_.

He didn't come back with any great insight into his father's past. That timebomb had been at home all along waiting to blow on its own. And thinking about it, Teddy seemed to have forgotten about the subject entirely until the bomb blew. _Without the catalyst of his hurt and his anger, would Teddy have learned that Remus Lupin was a real man with real insecurities he needed to overcome?_

Because Teddy had come, or was coming, to terms with that truth. _Painful as it was to watch him, wouldn't he be stronger for it? That which does not kill us …_

"He had a bad experience first year," she blurted. _Now Teddy looked at her_. "He wasn't treated well. The family wasn't exactly around, most were in Gryffindor. Your letters were great …when they came." She surveyed his wide eyed response to her words and worried they came off as an assault.

"I mean," she slowed her speech and softened her voice, "he knew you were there for James and for me our first years. He kind'a counted on your support even though you weren't in school any longer. Maybe that wasn't fair, but that was the fact."

She paused trying to decide whether she should continue or not.

"Thing is," she took a deep breath and plunged ahead, "you assumed he was in Gryffindor. Took him months to work up the courage to tell you he was Slytherin." She throttled her rush of words to measure his reaction as she continued, "He finally did and you never returned that letter. He honestly believes you never wrote back because you think less of him for it."

"What?" Teddy spat the word out before he gaped, wordless, processing what she'd said.

"That's not true - I wouldn't - what?" he repeated. "No."

Victoire met his astonished stare. That day, the colour reflected back at her was the one she knew him by. The dark colour that had cloaked his eyes since his return shuttered his feelings, or it seemed, robbing her of the rich amber she thought she could read. The lightness she saw then, providing some transparency of his feelings again, gave her courage.

"He doesn't know that," she answered as gently as she could. "Who knew what really went on with you? You just pulled away without warning. It hurt -" her gaze shifted over his shoulder, "- it really hurt him."

When she chanced a look at him, Teddy's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth.

"Hey, budge over you two." Fred and James dropped down in front of them each carrying boiled something on a stick.

James lounged back as he chomped, inserting himself between them propping one arm over Teddy's knee and the other over Victoire's. Victoire was lucky enough to have the hand holding the rancid piece of – _meat? _– on her side. The piercing smell permeated her nose and her still questionable stomach lurched.

"Merlin, what are you eating?" she all but gagged, annoyed at more than the assault on her senses.

"Sauerkraut tails," James said through a mouthful.

"Tail of what we don't know." Fred wiped dripping sauerkraut with his sleeve.

"Oi," James tossed his head back over his shoulder to address Victoire with all seriousness, "you need to talk with your sister 'bout her taste in men."

The pungent smell of fermented cabbage on his breath nearly killed her.

"What is her taste these days?" Victoire's words were muffled by the fist she pressed against her nostrils.

"Ravendorks." James pointed his meat stick where Dominique had stalled to speak to a group of Ravenclaws at the bottom of the next tower.

Victoire registered the individuals surrounding her sister, and more telling, Dominique's casually calculated position in relation to one Wyatt Eaton. Wyatt and James had argued over an alleged foul in their first Quidditch match against each other. James held a grudge.

"Stop being a git." Victoire finally attacked the hand holding the offensive, drippy substance and pushed the mess back in front of him. "Whole point of today is inter house relations."

"Not his house I have a problem with."

"Get over it. She's fine," Victoire said after a long breath from the other direction. No use, the stench lingered. As the stands filled, Teddy's presence drew attention and old classmates were pushing in to say hello.

"I need some air," she gasped and tottered her way back to the ground feeling like a pensioner. Her limbs, sluggish and taut from her time in bed, not entirely cooperative.

Her retreat brought her out close to the staging area for the day's functions. A witch with a clipboard was calling the first wave of participants from their warm-ups in three successive languages. Victoire moved past the crunch of bodies to a peripheral area where she could breath without being touched.

She caught sight of Al prepping his broom at the side of the pitch and made her way to him, thinking a little personal growth wouldn't kill Al either. Her cousin's head popped up in response to his name being called, answering the request with a toss of a bristle brush from his broom kit. She was mildly surprised to see Scorpius Malfoy catch the tool he'd requested midair.

"You're mates now?" she asked as she approached Al. "Competition's gone."

The boy started, then recovered and shrugged. "Waste of energy. Together we get a lot more done," he punctuated his statement with a cunning smirk.

"Ok," Victoire nodded, "I get that. I do. But, here's a question for you: if Scorpius deserves a do over, doesn't Teddy?"

"You going to be doing him over?" Al evaded the question.

"Shut it," she scolded. "We were always friends. Nothing's changed."

"Yeah." His eyes narrowed and he nodded. "That's why you were such a blast to be around last summer."

"Nice!" Victoire replied, regretting her detour. This reception was hardly worth the trip down the stairs. "Look, this little act of yours is getting a bit overplayed. Adults talk things through."

"Oh, yeah?" Al folded his arms and braced them over the handle of his broom. "You ever talk to him about ditching your graduation? You know bloody well he was in town for it. Oh - before that - ditching you?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Right. He's only paying attention to you now because his regular bint isn't here. You remember her, the one he replaced you with."

She glared at him but didn't rise to the bait. "Just give him a chance, yeah?"

"I've got an exhibition."

"Think about it," she called after his retreating back, receiving only a dismissive wave over his shoulder as a response. _At least he waved more than one finger,_ she thought.

She had done what she could. It would be up to them from here.

_Boys!_


	18. It's Not Like I Haven't Seen It Before

Victoire spent the next hour on the ground where a steady stream of people passed. She hoped to avoid the tiring trek back up the spectator tower, but as a few of her aunts spotted her on their way, she thought she might not have a choice. Teddy unknowingly saved her when he popped out of a service tunnel under the tower structure, sufficiently distracting them.

"Your shirt's ripped." Hermione pointed to his side. A jagged fold of fabric dangled from a gap in his Hogwarts Cup jersey.

"A slight incident with a shortcut under the stands," Teddy offered with a sheepish grin.

"You have to be short for it?" Hugo asked.

"I'll fix that…" Rose brought her wand up with confidence.

"No," Hermione scolded, "you do that while he's still wearing it, and you could stitch it right to his skin."

"One time. That happened one time," Ron complained as he approached from the other direction. "Fourth year," he clarified for Bill walking beside him. Bill gave his brother a reassuring clasp on the arm but didn't hold back a laugh of his own.

Teddy shook his head at Rose. "Thanks but no worries. I'll get it later. Gran's aces with those things." He caught a fleeting glance from Victoire and looked expectantly, and a little hesitantly, at her. "What?"

Victoire smiled slightly and shrugged. "Nothing. She'll be really glad to see you, is all. You don't let her do near enough for you." The remark was the closest Victoire had come to suggesting Teddy make an effort to put Andromeda out of her misery for censuring information about his parents.

_On a roll with the advice, she was. Who'd have thought._

She pulled her glance from Teddy when she felt the weight of another stare on her. Her father focused her way, blue eyes sharp.

"Are you ok?" Bill took a stride closer, giving his eldest a thorough inspection.

"I'm a little low on energy 's all," she said but realized her father wasn't going to accept the short version. "Ate some bad leftovers a day ago. Haven't kept much down since." Victoire pulled her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. "I thought about getting something to eat before James showed with the most disgusting concept in food." She couldn't help scrunching her nose at the memory. "Sort of robbed me of my desire for anything."

Bill insisted they go to the food tent, calling Louis and Dominique over from some friends. Ron and Teddy fell in line with them. Bill managed to sweet talk one of the elves into making a small, bland sandwich for Victoire. The group then made their way to one of the standing tables surrounding the vending area to eat.

Rather than give her a burst of energy as she hoped, the food in her belly only succeeded in making her sleepy. A large medical tent had been erected beyond the pitch to handle injuries from the tournament, and she contemplated heading over to make use of a cot.

Louis rallied the small group to check out the broom vendors, peddling their latest models in colourful tents scattered across the grounds. Victoire begged off, taking the opportunity to head for Madam Pomfrey's. The next match for the Hogwarts team wasn't happening for another two hours, and the school nurse wouldn't question her request for a kip. Madam Pomfrey developed a habit of fussing over Victoire after the Forbidden Forest incident.

Teddy surprised her when he caught stride with her.

"What, not scouting the newest broom innovations?" she teased, avoiding any more serious topics as they proved quite tiring in her barely recouped state.

Teddy took her lead, relieved. "My broom's broken in just the way I like." He smiled, his eyes crinkled against the glare of the sunlight and the gusts of wind whipping around them. They entered the tent, halting briefly to adjust their sight to the shaded interior.

The tent bustled with activity. Spectators and participants were scattered all over the room. The Matron and two assistants moved efficiently between them. Madam Pomfrey saw the pair and fluttered over, concerned.

"Hello, dears. Is everything all right?" She eyed Victoire like a hawk.

Smiling down at the nurse, Victoire confessed, "I've been sick. Better now –" she interjected as the older woman touched her face, "but I was hoping for a place to kip before the final match." She shook her head with a rueful glance around.

"You'll get no rest here, dear. Why not go to the regular exam room adjacent the team lockers? We aren't using the space today. There's a cot," Madam Pomfrey offered with a quick smile before she shook her head and tutted at a student carried in with a Durmstrang flag lodged up his prominent hooked nose. "Password's 'Appleby Arrows'," she said as she took hold of the newest victim.

Teddy and Victoire gave each other a side glance and choked out their goodbyes before laughing outright when they passed the exit. The pair headed back around the pitch while trading stories about flagrant shows of bad sportsmanlike behaviour.

The fresh air and company dissipated her fatigue. Victoire almost forgot she was circling the pitch in search of a place to nap as she watched Teddy's animated account of an incident from a Peruvian cross country broom race. He looked like the student he used to be, not the man he'd become when she wasn't wasn't looking.

Victoire had never seen the Quidditch exam room and hesitated when they approached what she knew to be the lockers and equipment shed. Teddy led the way to the back of the structure and opened a heavy wooden curve topped door for her without a thought.

"Spent some time here?" she joked. Inside she found a sparse utilitarian room with an exam table close to the door and a cot along the far wall. The temperature seemed ten degrees warmer crossing the threshold out of the brisk wind. A light on the ceiling cast a filtered glow over the interior as they entered. Snug but clean, the place was surprisingly quiet with the equipment room buffering the roar of the crowd to a rumble.

"Maybe," Ted admitted, following her in and inspecting the room. His weight shifted from one foot to another. One hand worked the loose threads of the tear in his jersey.

"You're making it worse," Victoire scolded. "Take it off. I'll fix it."

"What – no, 's ok. It's fine."

She drew her wand, resting her other hand on her hip. "Do it now," she warned, "or run the risk of Uncle Ron attacking you out of the blue in an attempt to restore his reputation."

"Ok, do it." He turned to the side and stretched the fabric away from his skin.

"Take it off."

His head came back around. "Thought you were good with charms."

"It's nothing to do with my abilities or concern for safety. Mending flat leaves no trace in the weave." She couldn't believe how much she sounded like a professor so she amended with, "Stop being such a girl. It's not like I haven't seen it before."

His eyes snapped to hers. She had the sense she might've upset the easy rapport between them and could've hexed herself for it. Thinking fast, she decided her best option was to keep things light, so she rolled her eyes and continued, "For some random jumper, I wouldn't push, but this is your Cup jersey. You'll be embarrassing generations to come with it at their matches." She sighed and made a show of turning around, holding her hand over her shoulder for the garment.

She heard the sounds of the heavy fabric sliding together, and he laughed as he pulled it off. "You think you know me?" The jersey appeared over her shoulder.

She shrugged as she remained facing the other direction. She sensed the warmth of him behind her and imagined him looking over her shoulder as she smoothed the fabric on the surface of the exam table and performed the charm.

"You still have it?" He stood so close behind her, the timber of his voice so low, the words tickled the insides of her ear.

"Yes."

She wished she'd seen the look on his face when he asked the question. She wanted to turn around but held still. She hadn't anticipated the question and answered without thought. _That sort of thing should be off limits, shouldn't it?_ A memory flashed through her mind - his room, his backpack nearly full, his game jersey thrown over the bag waiting to be shoved inside with the remainder of the things he was taking when he left.

The jersey he knew she'd kept from that night.

She turned and held a different jersey in front of him, allowing a view of the flawless thread weave where the jagged rip had been. A view for which Teddy spared not a glance.

She couldn't think of a single thing to say.

He reached for the shirt with both hands, brushing hers. His thumbs ran over the crest of her knuckles, taking the thick fabric from her.

"Thank you." He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

It was quick and smooth and almost innocent. If he hadn't allowed himself the smallest of tastes against her skin. If he hadn't drawn in the slightest of breathes over her hair. His face pulled back, eyes trained on hers, watching her reaction closely.

She felt a shift like the air leaving the room. _Could he tell? Was he experiencing anything remotely similar to the tension building in her?_ The glimpse of the path she wanted to take.

The stillness of that instant defied the turmoil within her. Amid the impulses competing in her mind, something released, and she knew she couldn't hold back even if she wanted to. She didn't want to. She'd held back for two years.

Because she couldn't resist. Because she was nearly dying with not doing it. She swept up to kiss him. Making the decision for both of them, she allowed impulses to take over, finding a path in every touch, every taste.

He met her advance. Like he couldn't get close enough.

_This was the kiss she'd been waiting for since the night they said goodbye. _

She opened her eyes, needing to take in every detail in the little space they'd finally had to give for breath. The intensity of the moment scared her. Everything about him had been stripped down to its essence. Sandy hair, soft and unkempt, amber eyes bright and raw with emotion. Pure Teddy.

She knew she was as exposed as he was. She didn't care. Because this was Teddy, touching her as if she were something he_ knew_.

Inhaling deeply, she wanted to imprint everything – the sight, the feel, the smell of him - in her memory. She wanted this. She wanted everything that came along with this.

His lips on hers once again. Greedy and generous and everything she needed them to be. She knew he wanted this too. She could feel it.

The response she provoked in him sent the unfamiliar sensation of power through her.

She'd convinced herself she could be happy with his friendship. _ Merlin, she was wrong._

Her jacket fell to their feet in a rustle of fabric. _The sweater had to go_. The thought, the only coherent one flashing through her mind, didn't translate into effective action. Teddy picked up on her intent and tugged the fabric over her head in a swift motion that matched her impatience with the garment.

His eyes graced her skin in the filtered light of the room before his hands and mouth resumed. And she was lost. Coherence gone.

The loss of the extra layers brought little relief from the stuffy air of the room. Not when she was enveloped in the warm skin of Teddy's arms and chest. Her head became light, her body weightless under his caress. She leaned into him, craving the contact and needing the support. He was making her knees weak.

She slipped down his chest, only to be caught in his arms and half lifted back against him. She'd lost all sense of the passage of time until everything in the room stilled for that moment. She blinked.

Had she actually _swooned?_

"V, look at me." Teddy's breathlessness betrayed him, adding urgency to his request. He brought her face up with a stroke under her chin. She met his eyes with glazed ones of her own.

He studied her.

"Sit down," he instructed gently, guiding her to the cot. The room spun for a moment. She lowered onto the mattress and held on to him for grounding, before she gained her equilibrium again.

"So sorry." He closed his eyes and exhaled a long shaky breath. "Wasn't thinking. You need rest."

Just like that, Teddy came back to his senses. He became the Teddy from Hogwarts. The one who said she was too young. The one who could resist not only her but also himself.

"No," she moaned as she laced her arms back around his neck and pulled him with her to lie back on the cot. She thought she'd won as he followed her down. Except, he stopped at arm's length, bracing himself with a hand on either side of her. She gave a feeble tug, but he wasn't moving a centimetre closer.

_Bugger!_ _She wasn't sixteen anymore. She knew what she wanted, and like the tart she apparently was, she wanted it now. _

"You don't honestly believe I can sleep?"

"You nearly passed out."

"Obviously, we should have moved to the cot sooner." She slid her hands from his neck to frame his face, running the pads of her fingers along his jaw and her thumb along his lips. "We're here now."

His throat bobbed, and he raised himself up. Her hands slid from his face down his torso with the little distance he put between them. She kept them there, not holding on but refusing to break contact completely.

A wave of disappointment and defeat clenched her insides, but she pushed it away. Drawing upon the strength she felt in eliciting such a passionate response from him, she chose instead to focus on the reluctance in his actions. _At least that was something._ His was the only attention she wanted and having it again provided a confidence she craved. She'd felt it. She needed to find it again.

He snapped his fingers, a sound far louder in her ears than it had a right to be. His wand appeared. Retrieving their clothing with a simple flick, he pulled her sweater free of his jersey, fingering the soft weave as he passed it to her. She didn't take it. Her hands remained, resting lightly on his skin where they'd slid.

"V," he drew the letter out, part directive and part groan, "please."

"It's hot in here. I don't need a sweater." She threw him a look that dared him to deny the flush still adorning both their skin. The path they _both_ took.

"You're testing my resolve." He shook his head, a trace of a smile on his lips.

She grinned, cocked an eyebrow, and began moving her fingers in slow circles, revelling in the shiver she felt move through him. So sure she was making progress. _His eyes were riveted to her, weren't they? That had to mean something. _

"I'm not going to fight you on this." He grabbed her hands and brought them up to place a chaste kiss on each palm in turn. "I need you to give in. Can't you - for once - do what's best for you?"

"Don't. Do. This." Her tone was low, accusing. "Don't pull away and tell me it's _best_ for me." She sat up, ignoring the dizziness the sudden movement elicited.

She intended to stand up, hoping the act would provide her some sense of control.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm not pulling away. Please. Lie down."

"Come off it," she snapped. "I had a bit of bad food not spattergroit." She slinked her shoulder from under his grip. "So, I missed a day of school. You make it sound –"

"Longer than that."

"What?" She thought back and shook her head. _She missed school yesterday; today was the tournament -_

"It was more than a day. I, erm, used the time turner."

Her eyes widened, and she touched her chest, only to find it more bare than she realized. "How long?"

So distracted over his admission, she didn't think to protest when he took the opportunity to quickly pull clothes on before he searched his pockets and retrieved the charms. "I, erm, lost track. Maybe four days total," he admitted as he knelt down next to the cot.

"That long?" She searched his face. _Four days of time turning. Was that even possible?_ Teddy wouldn't take that chance. He was the one who kept her from being reckless.

Chin down, his eyes turned up to meet her gaze. "I hadn't planned on it." He rolled the charms between his fingers as he continued, "I didn't want you to get behind, miss the tournament."

"How'd you pull it off? I mean, did anyone see us out of place?" Her head was spinning again. She gazed up from the charms in his hand to find his jaw set.

"No, I made sure."

His voice softened while he placed the charms around her neck, "I racked my brain to think of a way to turn back before you ate the food." His features were so apologetic she didn't hesitate accepting when he followed the charms with her clothing. "There was no way without being seen. The consequences..."

She shuddered.

He guided her down to lay on the cot again. This time she did not fight, wrapping her coat close as she reclined. Body heat ebbed away leaving chill bumps in the wake of its departure. The wind whistled along the slats of the solitary window's shutters. Victoire focused on that sound, attempting to still her thoughts.

"Why don't I remember?"

"You were out of it." Teddy remained knelt beside the cot, absently fingering a lock of her hair spilt over the pillow. "I called Bimas' nurse line. They kept saying it'd run its course." She moved her gaze from the ceiling in time to catch his brow furrowing at the memory.

He gave a small shake of his head and managed a wry smile. "Don't remember forbidding me from going near any gillywater?" He twisted the lock he'd been fondling, lightly tapping her nose with the end of it. "Doubled over in pain and worried I'd dare bring some in the room. You owe me a bottle, you know, for one you tossed behind the bed."

"That stuff is vile," she murmured. The thoughts were fading. She was fading.

When the knock sounded at the door, her heavy limbs told her she'd been out for a while. Teddy swung his legs down from where he sat on the exam table with his back propped against the wall. Tossing aside an old Quidditch magazine he'd been reading, he approached the door as it opened. His hand, poised to catch it, halted in mid air.

"Expecting an elf?" Bill asked, balancing a steaming container in one hand, two fingers casually looped through the top handle of a small bag containing silverware and napkins.

"Uh, yes." Teddy straightened to full height as he recovered. He grabbed the door which had stalled against Bill's broad shoulder.

Victoire lifted slightly to rest on her elbows. From her position on the cot, she made out her father's outline at the door. She wondered if he would always cast that impressive a form to her. Teddy was as tall and certainly filled out from the boy he was, but there would always be something so solid about her Dad. Beyond his size, it was his bearing, his importance - at least to her- and his presence that made him larger than life.

"I ran her off at the pass." Bill hoisted the container slightly and stepped fully into the room. "Had a similar idea myself, but you beat me to it. Thought the least I could do was deliver." His gaze lingered on Victoire as she pushed herself to a full sitting position before she arose from the cot.

"Thanks, Dad." She approached him for a kiss on the cheek. The hearty smell of the soup surrounded the trio. "You, too," she told Teddy, still holding the door. "How long have I been out?"

"Next match should be getting started soon. I was about to wake you like I promised," Teddy's voice was casual, but she knew he was as aware of her father's presence as she.

Bill had always been a surrogate father for him. Harry had been so young when Teddy was born, he acted more big brother than authority figure. Victoire had heard her mother mention more than once she thought Harry grew up overnight when James came along. Things may have shifted after that, but those early years had imprinted on Teddy a deep respect for Bill. A desire for his approval.

They needed to get out of that room before _anyone_ over thought the situation.

"We should go, then," she coaxed. Both men regarded her with suspicion. "I can eat in the stands, and you're right, I don't want to miss the senior match. May be the last time some of the seventh years play." She walked through the door Teddy had yet to relinquish.

The men followed.

The path back around the pitch and under the main archway on the west side was well worn. They strolled the channel it made on the ground while Victoire rattled out everything she remembered about the sixth and seventh years playing for Hogwarts in the upcoming championship match. She surprised herself with the amount of information she was able to emit on the subject.

"Looks like Bill found them," she heard Ginny proclaim as they cleared the dimness of the passageway into the sharp glare of the pitch. A smattering of family members clustered around the bottom of the steps leading to their section of stands. Their shapes took form as her eyes adjusted to the changing light. A new form among them stood out.

Victoire's face warmed, and she detected a faint trace of moisture at her temples. Attempting to quell the nervous churning in her stomach, she offered a polite greeting and chanced a glance into Iska's eyes . The other woman's pupils narrowed. No further sign showed in her outward appearance, but Victoire thought that slight gesture spotlighted her own guilt.

Teddy shifted from one foot to the other. Not a resounding display of innocence either. _What a pair! _

With the stragglers located, the rest of the family made their way back up the tower. Bill lifted the soup container with a simple, "I'll take this to your seat for you."

Her father's departure left Teddy and Victoire with Iska who promptly glided up to Teddy and pecked him on the lips. Victoire suppressed a jolt of possessiveness.

"You look parched, dear," she cooed, handing him a bottle of Japanese gillywater from her dragon hide handbag. "You know it's so important to keep hydrated."

Teddy took the bottle from her numbly, but the touch of her skin as she caressed his hand with the exchange appeared to orient him back in the situation. He steeled himself, offering a quick thanks before addressing Victoire, "Excuse us." He gestured for Iska to proceed him under the archway from which he, Bill, and Victoire had emerged.

One eyebrow twitched slightly, but there was no other single indication anything might be amiss as Iska strode ahead. Shoulders back and head high, she was the picture of confidence.

Teddy rolled the gillywater bottle between his palms. He cast Victoire a quick glance. "Go on, sit down. Have some soup. I have to fix this before anyone gets hurt." He took a bracing inhalation and followed through the archway.

Victoire turned but hesitated with one foot on the step to the tower. She glanced back, not moving again until the shadows engulfed Teddy entirely. The weight in the pit of her stomach slowed her ascent to the seats where her family gathered.

She couldn't imagine how Teddy was going to handle the situation.

Her food she retrieved from a watchful father, thankful it was only soup she was expected to eat. She doubted she could get anything else past the knot in her throat. As it was, the soup grew cold in the time she spent sipping it down.

James and Fred returned from yet another food run of their own.

"Blimey, took you long enough!" Al snagged his share. "Why didn't you take the shortcut?"

"Started to," James replied, "but you should see Teddy and Iska going at it down there." He shared a look with Fred. "Not that they'd notice us -_ involved_ as they were." James had a sixth sense drawing him in to any sort of scandal and, potentially, a great future ahead of him in the tabloids.

Al's eyes cut toward Victoire at his brother's words. The I-told-you-so look unmistakable behind his glasses. She really wanted to correct him for jumping to the conclusion James meant snogging. Unfortunately, that would be admitting the rather large part she may have played in the fight apparently escalating from their talk.

_Maybe she was crying. _An overcrowded Quidditch event was the worst place to have that kind of conversation. Another wave of guilt hit Victoire, and she had no idea how to quell it. She had no love for Iska, but having their heart broken wasn't something she wished on anyone. She felt for Teddy too. The conversation had to be awful for him. No owl this time to buffer him and 'its for your own good' wouldn't fly with a woman like Iska. Iska always knew what was good for her and had no problem asserting herself to get it.

Victoire packed up the remnants of her meal and downed what remained of her water. The food fuelled a restlessness that had her bouncing her heels as she scanned the sky trying to follow the game.

"Stop kicking the seat," Ginny corrected James.

"Not me," James returned, nodding to his brother with a slug to the younger boy's arm.

Victoire stilled. "Sorry, that's me." Several pairs of eyes turned her way.

"Are you ok?" her father asked.

"Just, ah, got to go," she answered. She really did have to pee, but more importantly, she needed to get all thoughts of Iska, especially a crying Iska, out of her head.

"I'll walk with you," Ginny offered. "I wagered Al a new broom kit if he beat his record time. Need to settle my debt before the vendors leave." She stood while Al, torn between wanting to see the match and needing to pick out his own kit, glanced between the pitch and the women standing. His need to acquire the right kit overpowered his fanaticism, but he set a blistering pace down the stands so not to miss any more action than absolutely necessary. Victoire peeled off with a wave and a sigh of relief when they approached the loos.

Returning between the stands, Victoire caught site of an empty Japanese gillywater bottle on a half wall bordering the utility access for the tunnel supporting the structure of the event's additional seating. The gate was ajar. The tunnel occupied. Unable to stop her impulse, Victoire crossed the gate and crept closer into the shadows. The noise from within, echoing past her, didn't sound like crying. _She knew_ even before her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She knew, but she couldn't help herself from confirming.

_No, he didn't appear guilty or uncomfortable_.

His heavy lidded eyes were dazed pools of black. His features sharpened with a voraciousness that bordered on feral as he trailed kisses over _her _with a near fanatical devotion.

Iska's eyes were clear, sharp as she peered back over her shoulder, providing full access of her neck and collarbone to Teddy's advances. She locked eyes with Victoire, the air of satisfaction surrounding her a near tangible force in the earthy humidity beneath the stands.

The brunette moved her chin down slightly, never taking her piercing gaze from Victoire's shocked one. Her mouth hovered over Teddy's dark locks. Victoire couldn't hear the sound over the crowd above or the pounding of blood at her temples. She had no problem reading the words on those red stained lips.

_Say my name_.

The fervid reply Iska compelled was immediate. A near growl Victoire couldn't block out. Teddy's voice travelled through her as it always did. Always would, she feared. Never stopping at her ears, but finding its way to her core. She stumbled back with the force of it.

Turning, reaching no farther than the back of the pitch, she threw up. Al and Ginny found her doubled over.

Stunned. Sick. Her heart proper broken.


	19. Never Trust Superstitions At Sea

Micah wasn't getting the message. "Who says you have to spend the holidays with your family?"

"You have to," Victoire insisted, wondering at what point the sunset was going to give her perspective. Micah's suggestion to experience one hinted at therapy and introspection. Except, Micah's view of the world left little room for reflection. Her advice had been blunt: cry yourself a river, build yourself a bridge, and get over it.

_Poetic in a kick-you-in-the-arse kind of way. _

Victoire understood the need, if not the means, but Micah's casual ditch-the-family attitude confused her. She wanted the support of being with them. And Teddy had Iska. He should have _her_ family. Not the Weasleys.

She propped her feet on the boat's railing, wrapping an oversize towel closer around her shoulders to block the wind. A red and orange streaked sky faced off the starboard side with a glow that was warm only in colour. The pair perched on an inflated rubber life raft they'd flipped over on the swim platform. Cold rubber. Her bum was numb. _Maybe they should have left a few deck chairs._

"Then tell him to make other plans."

Victoire merely scoffed at the suggestion. She couldn't tell him anything of the kind. The family would want to understand why she'd issued an ultimatum, and she wasn't inclined to explain. Besides, her current plan involved not speaking to Teddy at all.

"No?" Micah leaned back on her elbows, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the crisp breeze. The woman was, by all indications, impervious to the elements. A sly smile broke across her features. "Then why not take the boat for a holiday cruise. She's ready."

True. Victoire had been living onboard the last week. "My boat's a he."

"All boats are _she_, hun," Micah said, not bothering to open her eyes. "With the possible exception of those cigarette boats, because y' know, compensation. But, generally, it's the rule."

"You follow rules?" Victoire had never met anyone so prone to individual interpretation, and if Micah didn't agree, she saw no problem disregarding.

The question prompted the opening of a single eye. "The ones that make sense."

"And arbitrary gender assignment makes sense."

"If you ask the crews, yes. Boats deliver their cargo and protect their passengers. All that feminine vessel crap." She shrugged, eyes closed again. "'Course most crews will also tell you having women onboard is bad luck."

"I reckon that depends on the woman." The familiar Aussie accent reached them from the dimness of the deck above. "I'd take my chances with you two."

Micah rolled to prop on one elbow, squinting up at Owen, whose outline disappeared while he ducked into the cabin for the stairway to the swim platform. "The spare returns again," she murmured. "Been avoiding him too?"

Victoire scowled. He hadn't been back that long.

And she didn't know what to tell him. Worse, she didn't know what Teddy had told him. She wished she'd left a light on in the cabin so she'd get a glimpse of his expression before he reached them. Not that Owen was prone to revealing anything. She should be more concerned if the sun had dropped far enough to prevent her from giving too much away. Dropping her legs, she swiveled to face the cabin door.

"Whole boat to yourselves and you're huddled on a raft in the dark?" He strode out and dropped on the raft with a force that had the girls bouncing with him.

"The fairies are around somewhere." Victoire squirmed back to a sitting position before realizing that, in her self-consciousness, she hadn't moved to hug or even properly greet him.

"They chase you out?" His tone was teasing, but his watchful gaze probed to the point Victoire suspected he'd start offering ice cream soon.

She'd done the ice cream days ago. Hadn't helped.

"Sunset brought us out." Victoire's face, reluctant to cooperate, left her no idea what form her attempt at a smile had taken. She turned to Micah for help. "Isn't there something about storms …sky color…?"

Micah hesitated, giving Victoire the sinking sensation her friend might take the opportunity to push her past the topic of weather. She bit her lip, thinking fast, but Micah came through, quoting "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailor's warning."

"Yeah, that one." Apparently, the boat was safe until morning. Victoire was only safe for the next ten minutes. The exact length of time Micah took to make a lame excuse to go inside.

Owen wasted no time. "You gonna tell me what's twisted everybody's knickers?" He waited a beat for her to answer while she bit her lip and avoided eye contact. "A man can't even scare up a mate for a pint. I'm drinking alone these days."

That did it. "Not the first time Teddy's been too busy for you." She managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice, if not all the venom.

The last rays of sunlight crossed the planes of Owen's face and square jaw at a low, almost eerie angle. "This time's got me worried."

Victoire recoiled. He was serious. Owen was concerned _for_ _Teddy_.

"Teddy's busy being Teddy. I wouldn't waste time worrying." She stood, but given that the swim platform wasn't much bigger than the raft, she didn't really have anywhere to move. She pressed back against the guardrail and grasped the top rung with a punishing grip. _Bloody sunsets. The only thing twilight brought was another night._

"You're wrong. I haven't seen him this detached since-" Owen stopped himself and breathed in. "What happened?"

She wheeled around. "Besides him wanting his cake and Iska too? I wouldn't know."

Owen cursed to himself. She didn't hear it; only saw the word formed on his lips before he stood.

"It was nothing." She'd spent the last week kicking herself for thinking anything different, with the occasional break to imagine exactly where she wanted to kick Teddy. "Obviously. Not worth _his_ mentioning. "

"He's not really talking." Owen stepped beside her and pried her grip from the railing. He sighed, close but not making any other contact. "Should've brought a roadie."

"Dad keeps beer in the wet bar, upper salon."

He didn't move.

"I'm not going to jump. Promise."

Micah passed him on his way to the top deck. Through the open door to the lighted interior, Victoire had a straight view of their short conversation before he went up the stairs and Micah stepped outside with her.

"Traitor," Victoire said. Flopping back on the raft with her arms over her head, she blinked up at the only two stars bright enough to be visible yet.

"Don't be ugly, sugar." Micah sat down when the raft settled, barely causing a ripple herself, and tossed a sweater on Victoire's chest. "You get this down, and you'll be doing all right."

"You speak from experience?"

"Not the same experience, but that doesn't make a lick of difference. I can still say it doesn't pay to spend time looking back. It's what's in front-"

The words died in her throat and both their heads turned in unison at a sharp hissing erupting from over the dark waves. The hiss grew to a roar and the sky burst with light again. Brilliant red and completely unnatural. The color was hot and vivid. A massive flaming streak thundered toward the boat, rumbling like the Hogwarts Express speeding through a tunnel. The air trembled with the sound.

The girls tumbled off the raft seconds before the fireball hit, ripping the rubber to shreds with the combination of a punitive direct blow and intense heat, expanding the air inside beyond capacity. The raft gave way with a shrill screech and the rapid-fire staccato pops of a warehouse of fireworks set off at once. Ragged strips tore and rained outward with the force of whips. Searing rubber slapped against the deck, the cabin, their backs.

A sharp sting above one ear brought Victoire to her knees, and she gagged at the foul smell of sulfur. A scrap glanced off the side of her head, spiraling with the velocity of a Bludger. She watched in horror as the black strip skidded on the deck in front of where she crouched, twisted in a chunk of singed hair. Then, she transformed.

She dodged the tail of the fire, now assuming the shape of a chimera. Flying sharply upward, she avoided flames but not their intense heat or noxious fumes. She struggled. Her wings couldn't rotate fully in the turbulence billowing from the assault below. Victoire spun herself around and caught sight of Micah's outline, bathed in crimson light near the door, facing the fire with a hand shading her face. _Shit_. She wasn't running. She was screaming.

Micah didn't know where she'd gone.

"Vic! Micah!" Owen's shout from the upper deck carried through the air, but Micah, below the overhang of that deck and now desperately trying to douse flames, showed no sign of hearing him. Victoire had to do something. To get her friends away. And the fairies. _Shit, where were the fairies?_

Micah turned on the spot to avoid the blazing head of the chimera. She was gone. Victoire only hoped Micah assumed she'd Apparated to safety and had done the same.

Owen couldn't have seen Micah from above. He hadn't seen either of them get away. Before Victoire could do anything, Owen jumped from the upper deck, landing near the sweater she'd dropped in her scramble off the raft. He hit hard, almost dropping to one knee, wand already drawn, but his efforts to fight the fire evaporated before getting anywhere near the flames.

The Fiendfyre twisted around, engulfing the sweater and blasting a hole in the deck where the garment disintegrated. The boat lurched with the force of the attack. Deck boards all around burst in flames. The fire was fueling itself on the boat.

Owen jerked back to dodge an igniting board and lost his footing on the now wet deck. The boat, set in motion by the blasts, pitched him overboard. Victoire's stomach dropped when his head cracked against the hull before he slipped limply into the water.

The Snidget she had been transformed midair. As a woman, she half-dropped, half-dove after him. The salty water was an icy shock compared to the furnace of the flaming boat.

_The boat_. She'd already lost the boat, held no hope of saving it now. She frantically searched for Owen. She couldn't lose him. If she hadn't been such a bloody coward, protecting herself, he wouldn't have jumped into the middle of hell to save her.

The seawater killed her eyes. She couldn't see anything in the murk. A Bubble-Head charm helped for breathing, but not visibility. Chunks of sizzling debris sunk through the water from all directions with only a fraction of a heartbeat's time between seeing and avoiding them. Every time she rolled in the water to escape a direct hit, she searched the new direction.

_Where was he?_ She couldn't let him drown at the bottom of the harbor with no one around. Where no one would find him. The frigid water had numbed her skin but didn't stop the shiver that ran through her.

She couldn't let her worst nightmare happen to Owen.

She'd been rescued from the Forbidden Forest by a first year. Owen wasn't feather light, water was a complication, but she was a full-grown witch. She pulled her wand to her, her hands clasped around the hilt and her head bowed. The pose had her slipping faster to the bottom, but she needed to gather her strength for the incantation. With a breath so deep her bubble indented, and every ounce of her strength picturing Owen's smile -remembering his laugh - she thrust her wand through the water.

"Accio Owen!"

Her shout echoed within the bubble, ringing in her ears. She kicked her legs and flailed around in a circle. _Nothing_. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the shadow of movement and turned desperately toward the shape, only to find another chunk of board caught in the undertow.

_How could anything be left on the surface after all this? _She'd been underwater for what seemed like years.

She grasped her wand so tight her fingernails dug crescents into her palm. A sob choked up her throat. _Think_. _Think_. If she could only see him and not the rubbish littering the water. _Homenum_ _Revelio_. The spell came to mind in an instant of clarity.

Before her mouth even formed the words, she detected a presence in the water.

Not a shadow.

A life.

The incantation she spoke, not trusting how she had actually managed a nonverbal, was another Bubble-Head charm. Her wand shot a blue-green bolt through the murky water to him. The light of the spell illuminated the twitch of his body on impact, but his limbs went limp after. She swam in the wake of the spell, faster than she ever had - even when pursued by an irate hippocampus.

She never thought anything would make her want gillyweed again. She'd choke down a double dose to get to him sooner_. Had the time been mere minutes or the eternity she'd experienced in her panic?_

She grabbed his arm and swung his body around to see his face. The turbulence of the water made it difficult to tell if he were moving or being moved with the choppy swirl of the undercurrent. The light from the tip of her wand penetrated only a short distance in the brown water, reaching no farther than his bubble. His eyes were half open but unfocused. A faint trace of moisture collected inside the bubble, the tiniest spot of sheer mist from his breath. Fresh drops of blood beaded above his eyebrow.

_Dead men don't bleed. S_he repeated the thought to herself as she laced an arm under his and pulled him to her with a tight grip. She kicked and stroked with her free limbs. Judging by the flashes, intensifying and fading above her, they'd sunk far enough to be closer to the bottom than the surface. She used the increasing glow of the fire, outlining the hulking frame of the boat, to guide her.

She'd never make swimming to the shoreline but couldn't risk getting too close to the incinerating boat. The dock was her best choice, although she wasn't sure where she could climb up. She aimed for the dockside of the wreckage. She hoped it was the dockside. If not, she'd be taking them out with the lowering tide.

Brawny Owen, so athletic on dry land, was more anchor than buoy underwater. She swam with stuttered, jerky forward movements. The debris cluttering her path cleared somewhat ahead of her. Helpful. Until, something slimy slithered under her shirt, grazing her shoulder blades before sliding down to the small of her back with a tug that stopped her. Horror and repulsion battled for which could overtake her first.

Her captor propelled her backward with fast, sinuous movements that rendered her limbs useless against the speed and force with which she was being towed. Her grip on Owen slipped and she wrapped her legs around his torso, locking her ankles to keep from losing him. She wouldn't let go now. She twisted to look behind her in a movement that wrenched her neck in the water's propulsion. Their rapid descent had them already under the boat.

She couldn't tell, beyond a flash of silver scales, what beast had captured them. The beast's intent to ram them into the bottom of the boat and down to a watery grave seemed clear.

Left with no other choice, she braced against their impending doom. The impact she expected turned into more of a squishing followed by a definite squeezing. Her breath left her, and along with it, the cold. Her unexpected escort flung her upward where she and Owen, at last, broke the surface of water.

And hit a ceiling.

Darkness had given way to whiteness. Light and white. The only color came from a half-dozen frisbees and two Quaffles, assumed lost that past summer, rocking in the ripples around them. Unless purgatory smelled like sardines, they hadn't been murdered. But they were exactly where she didn't want to be. Inside the boat. In a flooded cabin - the ramora's cabin judging by the toys - with an arm's length of airspace between the surface of the water and the ceiling they'd surely dented.

Owen had taken the brunt of the hit with his shoulder; his bubble broke and spilled out a throaty groan from him with the pop. He slipped down before his weight lifted from her. Reflexes took over and he was treading water. He squinted around, hesitated but opted to ignore the ramora, and focused bleary, somewhat bloodshot eyes on her.

"You promised you wouldn't jump."

"You jumped first." Unsure if the ramora intended a rescue or an attempt to keep the rats from leaving the sinking ship, Victoire wasn't staying long enough to sort out the details. She paddled to the far wall where the top of a door was visible above the waterline.

Owen opened the hatch with some effort. The pair spilled into a narrow hallway with a gush of water. The fire raged on, searching for whatever target had eluded its wrath and, from the splintering sounds above them, not sparing the furnishings on the way. Smoke moved through the upper half of passages and cabins in fast rolling swells. The ceilings looked like they were boiling with the thick black clouds.

"We have to go up." Victoire coughed. The air scratched her throat and lungs. They should have left the bubbleheads for the smoke, but she was afraid she wouldn't hear as well. And she wanted to hear the path of the Fiendfyre. "Apparate…from...deck." She was wheezing now.

Owen took the lead. She shouldn't have let him. A concussion from the head wound wasn't out of the question. His wand was surely buried in silt at the bottom of the harbor. Not to mention, she knew the boat's layout. But, his actions left no room for debate, and she didn't struggle when he placed a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her close and under the eye-watering smoke. They splashed ahead in ankle deep water.

The closest escape was a spiral staircase leading to the boat's bridge, the highest point and navigation center for the boat. Victoire reached over Owen's shoulder to send a blast of air upward, blowing the smoke out of the tube-like passage. They both inhaled quickly and started up to the round hatch in the floor of the bridge. Victoire had her wand in one hand and hooked the other onto Owen's belt with a firm grip. They moved fast, but the smoke filled the stairwell like a chimney faster than she could blow it back down.

As soon as Victoire cleared the last stair, Owen slammed the hatch closed over the stairwell, flinching at the crack the heavy cover made sealing the opening. The boat's bridge, intended to give the pilot a full view for navigation, was a circular room with windows all around. The polished wood floor was dominated by a large compass design inlaid in the center.

The smoke that chased them upward dispersed immediately. Eeerily. The room appeared inexplicably untouched. The polished wood, dials and fixtures glistened but not from any natural or interior lighting. They reflected a vicious red dragon circling the deck below and an equally angry thunderstorm brewing up from the horizon with unnatural speed.

The sheer violence of the forces surrounding them was paralyzing. Owen snaked a hand around her waist, leaning heavily against her. "Tell me we can Apparate from here."

She shook her head. "And I don't think rain's going to help."

Nothing about that storm looked right - not its speed or the force of the electricity brewing within the clouds. She heard the thunder, saw the lightening, but everything stayed within the thunderhead as it raced across the water. She'd almost swear the storm was stalking the boat.

"Water's nothing but an invitation to kick your arse quicker." Owen's words were thick, his gray eyes dilated.

"We need to get off the boat." She took two steps to cross the room, Owen in stride with her, heading for the door to the deck. _Mungos._ She'd Apparate them directly to St. Mungos. Owen needed a Healer.

"You need to get the boat away from the wizards." The fairies emerged from the middle of the compass, blocking them from the door. Faun had spoken, but Matera put her hand up to silence her.

"You're still here?" Victoire couldn't believe they hadn't taken cover somewhere else. "We need to get out."

"No need leaving the boat." Matera's voice was calm, but her troop was edgy. "The boat will meet your needs."

Victoire tensed as an awful thought invaded her mind. _"You_ can't be doing this," she wheezed. The thought made her weak, made her sick to her stomach. "Why?"

Matera spoke slowly, as if to a child. "A scorned wizard is the only Being malicious enough for this. This is not the way of fairies."

"Stay on the compass," Faun ordered when Victoire made a frantic move to the door. Faun cast Matera a defiant, impatient glance. The remainder of the troop looked anxiously between them.

The room flashed as the lightening finally unleashed. The bolts lashed out in multiple strokes, narrowly missing the Finedfyre. The electricity discharged was palpable. The shock wave blasted out a window.

"You can go, if you say where," Matera coached. "Say where you want to go."

Victoire had no time for games. "Safety!" How were they not getting the need to _get away_? "That's where I want to go - to safety."

Two things happened at once. Another ear-splitting clasp of thunder, accompanied by an instant bolt of lightning, coursed through the air. The room began to spin around, the movement giving them a full view of the strike on the port side of the boat.

The intensity of the lightening flash impaired Victoire's eyesight. Spots clouded her vision as if she'd been staring at the sun. She wasn't sure she could believe what she was seeing. The lightening had struck the fiery dragon head on.

By the second spin around, the lightning strike had traveled the length of the beast, which began imploding, writhing and withering. By the third spin, nothing outside the bridge windows was clear. She was getting dizzy and very, very sick to her stomach. Looking down she realized the room wasn't spinning, the compass was.

Her last thought: they had to get off before she passed out.


	20. Experience Never Grades on a Curve

She woke on a bed of cold wet sand to the sound of water hitting something solid. Rolling to all fours, she surveyed the area. Waves broke around rocky cliffs enclosing an alcove in the shore then lapped up to a beach within. The boat floated in the shelter of a bay sized to fit the vessel but nothing else. The cliffs gated the bay on one end and sand dunes, covered in tufts of beach grass, bridged the water and the interior of the shore on the other end.

A house perched on top of one cliff. With a wrap-around porch and large windows to take full advantage of the view, the home could have been muggle. Nothing about the structure indicated magical architecture.

She swallowed, immediately regretting the action. Her throat burned. _No dream, then. Nightmare, possibly_. The sound of a buzzing insect drew her attention inland. Instantly alert, her nerves tingled with new fear.

Owen's body sprawled in the tall grass. The reeds blowing around his limbs provided the only movement she could detect. She scrambled over, spreading a shower of sand in her wake. Legs shaky and breaths shallow with the effort of inhaling. Her insides were raw all the way down through her lungs.

Owen lay face up, unconscious but breathing. She reached a hand to wake him, but panicked, afraid to touch him, and pulled back. "Owen," she said in what amounted to a harsh, urgent whisper. Looking around wildly, her heart skipped at the sight of black smoke billowing into the sky.

Sure the dark trailing cloud came from the boat, she blinked, bit her lip and turned to the bay again.

The boat rose and dipped in the waves, anchored by the ramora. The silvery reflection of the fish shone under the surface, circling through the currents with nimble movements that gave no sign of injury. The boat itself didn't look so fortunate. Charred holes, blasted into the hull by the angry path of the Fiendfyre, gaped from the interior. Soot coated the surfaces, but no flames remained.

She turned slowly from the boat and traced the smoke to its origin.

A white quartz path beyond the dunes led inland. An assortment of trees lined the aisle. Smoke engulfed the trunk of one midway down the natural alleyway they created, rising through the branches violently. No flames were visible there either, and the adjacent trees remained untouched.

A handful of other trees had ribbons of white smoke lifting from them. Less violent, the white billows blew through their branches like a veil or a shroud rather than an attack. Victoire recognized most of the species, even the exotic ones, from the pamphlets various wood vendors brought to Ollivander's shop.

No telling what lay beyond the path, which itself continued to smoke suspiciously. She reached for her mark, the colorful dragonfly on her ankle. She hadn't summoned anyone during the attack or her search for Owen. She hadn't thought of rescue. Her thoughts had been centered on what _she_ needed to do.

Now, she _should_ get help. The mark tingled, but she heard no immediate popping.

She turned back, and this time she shook Owen's shoulder. Gently.

"Owen-"

"You will not be able to wake him, dear." A lilting, high-pitched voice advised from behind her.

Victoire stifled a gasp, swiveling on her knees and reaching for her wand.

"Miss Weasley, I mean you no harm and, truly, Mr. Sims will be fine."

Victoire didn't lower her wand. She'd expected her father, Harry, even Grant. _Where were they?_ She made an inelegant attempt to jump to her feet, but her sore limbs were uncooperative, verging on cartoonish. "Who are you?"

The petite woman, dressed in flowing green robes with a handkerchief hem, stood barefoot in the sand. Straight white hair fell down her back to mid-thigh, secured from her weathered face with a thin headband of braided leather. The fairy troop hovered quietly, slightly behind her.

"You may remember, perhaps, I sold you the boat." The woman glanced behind Victoire to the bay. "Such a shame she should be singed after all your hard work, but I suppose, you wouldn't be here if you hadn't earned her trust." The woman turned back from the battered boat with a satisfied smile.

"Trust?"

"Yes, child," the woman answered. "She was christened _My Trust_ on her maiden voyage, you see. A very long time ago."

Victoire tried to reconcile the figure before her with the memory she held of the boat's previous owner. The woman's appearance was different, but the voice, almost child-like, was the same.

"She's one of two ways to find this entrance to the Fairy Realm. You requested safety; she brought you here. You saved her and now she's prepared to save you. An adequate trade, I'd say."

They seemed safe. Away from the storm and no Fiendfyre in sight. So, the boat brought them to this place. Remembering the compass, Victoire widened her stance, digging her toes into the sand to combat the spinning sensation the memory triggered.

"You're a fairy?" Victoire swallowed continually in an effort to lubricate her arid throat. Three word spurts seemed to be her limit. "Fairy queen?"

"Not precisely." The older woman executed a simple bow as she said, "I am the last LeFay. I am no Queen. I am, in fact, the acting Conservator for the island."

The woman made up for Victoire's inability to say much, carrying the conversation with a natural poise. "The fairies have dusted your friend -oh don't worry- he only sleeps," LeFay assured. The fairies anxiously chorused their agreement.

The _dusting_ might have been a point of contention. Victoire wasn't sure.

"As it happens, what we need to wake him is within the island." LeFay gestured down the path of trees.

Matera spoke up, hovering above LeFay's right shoulder. "Our stores were damaged in the fire. The fire made many items unreliable."

"I can't leave him," Victoire insisted. Owen didn't even have a wand. He'd stopped carrying the one from his father, and his own was lost at sea.

LeFay's kind eyes captured Victoire's anxious gaze, and Victoire had the distinct impression she wasn't alone in her thoughts. "The wand lost at sea is of no consequence. Let's hope our friend chooses to chase the one that is. At present, he won't be left alone."

Of course not, Victoire wasn't leaving him. She turned to the path she'd been invited to take. Even if Owen weren't unconscious, she had no intention of going there.

"Something's wrong…" Victoire drew in a slow, careful breath. "With the trees."

LeFay nodded at the black one. "Mourning period." She touched her fingertips to her forehead before sweeping her open palm in a modest salute to the engulfed tree. "The island lost a Familiar we hadn't yet met." She paused and gestured to the other smoking trees. "The smoke will clear, but never truly go away."

Victoire gazed down the path of trees. The mixture of hardwood species couldn't be coincidence. She recognized Asian and tropical varieties and the tallest was certainly a Eucalyptus. Lucky, that one wasn't smoking yet. "Memorials?"

"Not all of them. We remain hopeful." The _we_ LeFay referenced became apparent as Victoire took a closer look around the dunes and the path.

Magical creatures of all varieties crowded the area, hovering and curious, closely blending into the terrain. A group of elves stood out. Their location given away by a single elf, hovering off the ground. He wore a woven harness strapping him at the shoulder and the waist. The straps joined at his abdomen around a metal ring. A rope tied to the ring connected him to another elf, the biggest in the group, who held him like a kite.

Victoire's eyes moved back to the house on the cliff. If there were muggles living inside, she wondered what they were seeing through their expansive view. Not likely the menagerie of life spread out before her.

"Muggle land," LeFay answered the question in her expression. "A simple but effective measure for keeping wizards away. The house has long since belonged to my family. The island belongs to the Fairy Realm."

Fairy land.

No one had come for her summons. No one could. They didn't want wizards here.

A shadow passed over the group when a griffin soared around the trees, mixing the white and black smoke into swirling gray with the beating of his wings. The downdraft created had the flying elf bobbing on his leash. The griffin landed heavily on the sand. The lion's body sat on its haunches while its eagle's head extended to examine Owen.

Victoire tensed.

"He will not hurt you." Faun assured, flying up to them. "Not hurt you, see?"

"Don't poke the griffin," Victoire said, so fast the words ran together as one. Panic rose from the pit of her stomach. The talons, the beak, the sheer size of him - all far too close to a defenseless Owen. "Don't poke -"

Faun poked the griffin. The beast let out a tremendous roar.

_Sweet Merlin, death-wish-fairy was out to get them all killed. Faun was menace, and surely the one who dusted Owen in the first place. _

"She didn't mean it, really." Victorie told the huge beast, acutely aware of how insane the words sounded. Especially given the psychotic quality of her strained voice. The griffin tossed his head back for another loud howl in response.

_Ok, a barking dog seldom bites _-isn't that what Micah says_- but does a roaring griffin tear you to pieces? _

The fairy laughed. "He is amused. Amused and touched. Touched that you would defend him. Defend him against me."

"You know that?" Victoire, unconvinced of Faun's interpretation, was amazed at her own lack of reaction.

Alarm bells were going off in her head, but she didn't detect even the slightest hint of a transformation. Her body's defense, automatic at the sight of the Fiendfyre, remained contained in the face of razor sharp talons and a beak which could certainly snap bones. Pint-sized Faun raised more concern, but even that was closer to irritation than threat.

"I am an animal talent." The fairy asserted with a tetchy fold of her arms across her chest. The tips of her wings tipped forward as if flicking themselves against Victoire's cheek for daring to question her. "Animal talent speaks to all. All speak to me with their words and their heart."

Terra intervened before Faun could throw a wobbly. "Heart was what we heard from you before we heard your voice. Your voice does not always speak your heart. Your heart speaks far more."

The smallest fairy's speech amazed Victoire. Terra rarely spoke to anyone or anything outside the troop. LeFay also seemed surprised with her littlest charge, nodding her approval to Terra and turning to Victoire.

"Indeed, 'twas your heart that brought you to us."

Very confused –not an unusual state in the presence of fairies- Victoire stood rooted to the spot as the griffin approached. LeFay's presence gave courage to the menagerie of spectators. With the exception of the elves, who shrunk back in the shadow of the trees. Victoire was used to house-elves. She even caroled with a large group of them every Christmas. These elves weren't acting anything like she'd expect.

She leaned toward LeFay, not wanting to speak any louder than necessary. She wasn't concerned with being overheard. Volume simply hurt. "Why… afraid?"

"The elves expect the billywig is near Mr. Sims. Elves are more susceptible to the stings, you see." LeFay nodded to the hovering elf. "A single encounter induces permanent floating. They quite hate that."

Victoire caught herself staring at the airborne elf. She'd assumed the harness was recreational, but on second glance, everything about him seemed miserably annoyed. _No, he wasn't flying like a kite by choice._

"Normally it wouldn't matter so much." The older woman explained, in the same calm voice. "Not here. The inhabitants of the island are committed to a common goal. Transcendent of individual species. But, there's been –contention– and stress." She surveyed the inhabitants gathered, stopping at the elves. "Another solstice draws near, and we've lost more ground than we've gained. One elf made an unfortunate comment about the loss of the billywig wand and, well, they are all uneasy." Her eyes rested on Victoire. "Insects, you see, are rather difficult to read in a diplomatic sense."

The woman filled the air with her lyrical voice, as if she hadn't had another human to talk with in a long time. The words lulled Victoire into a complacent silence. She was content not to have to talk herself.

"Wordsworth," LeFay said to the griffin, "may I present Victoire Weasley and Owen Sims."

Something about the name tickled a memory Victoire couldn't quite recall. The name was familiar somehow.

"You are not his Familiar, dear," LeFay corrected. "Neither of you are."

Victoire, quite sure she hadn't said anything out loud after the introduction, shrunk away from the old woman with a frown.

LeFay cocked her head, considering her next statement before coming to a decision. "'Tis fairy dust bonding _your_ wand."

"You?" Victoire's gaze shifted from Faun, now perched on the head of the griffin, to Materra flying close to LeFay.

"We," Materra answered, expanding her wings outward. "We gave the dust. The dust for your wand. The wand selected you. You are our Familiar."

"That's not-" Victoire wanted to say that wasn't how wizard wands work, but couldn't formulate the speech with her torched throat.

"That's how wands of destiny work," LeFay answered.

"Destined…for…what?"

"That, my dear, I cannot presume to tell. Experience administers the test first, you see, and the lesson after."

Victoire sunk into the sand. Her legs had become too much work to keep straight. _How long ago had the Fiendfyre attacked? _You'd think that would be the focus, but she hadn't begun to consider the implications of that little event. _Who, in their life, had to consider the practical implications of Fiendfyre. _

_Micah must be frantic._

LeFay placed a hand on the crown of Victoire's head. "Matera, take your troop to get what you require. I think our wizards need attend to business."

The fairy troop dispersed between the trees - their own path paved in a trail of dust left shimmering above the white quartz. Victoire waited in the shadow of the griffin, beside Owen's listless body and with LeFay at her shoulder.

"The boat will return you to the place you started. The danger has passed, but you'll notice no time has while you were here."

"I'd like-" Victoire started to say before she stopped and thought: _I'd like to return someday. To see your island. _

She wasn't just being polite. She really wanted to see the island. Not right then. But she hoped to return, even though she didn't completely understand how the compass worked, and honestly, she dreaded the thought of stepping on the thing again. The concept was cool but the reality nauseating.

LeFay reached into her sleeve and pulled out a pouch. The fabric was light, almost gossamer, allowing a glimpse of what looked like acorns within. The pouch was tied at the top with a fine cord which LeFay used to secure to Victoire's charm necklace. The pouch promptly shrunk to the size of a charm. "Two ways." She winked. "These will bring you to the house on the cliff. Walk into the apple orchard. If you carry the wand the island provided you, the path will be yours to see."

_Thank you._

The griffin made a low, warbling sound. He swung his head to Victoire, whose eyes grew with the anticipation. _What now?_

"Wordsworth has something for you as well." LeFay grasped a talon the griffin held out for her. She passed her other hand over, extracting the outer shell of the claw. "'Tis said, a poisoned liquid will change colors if served in a cup fashioned from a griffin claw."

Another wave of her hand altered the claw. A handle molded itself on the side, starting near the sharp tip and ending halfway up to the cone shape. The top, the part that had been _attached_ _to the animal _moments before, rounded slightly to form a smooth but irregular rim.

Victoire concentrated hard not to think her first thoughts of the gift _ripped_ from the animal in front of her. She'd spent time as a bird - she knew claws shed and the talon was intact with a shiny new surface underneath, but still. She hoped LeFay didn't pick up on images because she was picturing herself drinking from the equivalent of a toenail and wasn't sure she wouldn't prefer taking a chance with a poison.

Very deliberately, she thought: _Please thank Wordsworth for the very personal gift_.

* * *

The second spinning was better than the first, if only because she was kneeling on the compass. Her eyes remained closed and her wand handy in case she needed to conjure a bucket for herself. Owen sprawled across the ornate medallion the compass made in the floor. She'd made the decision to shelter him from the spinning and un-dust him after they returned. In one hand, she held the pouch of powder the fairies had given her to wake him. In the other, her wand.

She sat for a full minute on that maple and mahogany parquet medallion, stationary once again in the boat's bridge. Breathing.

Dead tired and with no idea where she'd sleep that night.

No place seemed safe. No place seemed like home.

Micah's voice, coming from the dock, rang through cracked windows. Victoire grabbed the dust she'd been given to wake Owen and sprinkled it over him. She watched his face animate, his eyes blink open and focus.

"Y'all alright?" Micah's head, nose and above only, popped over the sill in the broken window. "I thought you'd escaped. You scared the devil out of me when I saw you up here." Her voice was crystal-clear, strong. If her hair hadn't been streaked with soot, no one would have guessed she'd been anywhere near a fire.

Owen stood and cracked the joints of his back with a short, sharp popping sound. "I'm never stepping foot on another damn boat."

The skies behind Micah were clear, all the clouds, not just the dark ones, were gone as if the storm had dragged them away with the cinders of the Fiendfyre. Micah herself stared intently at Victoire and Owen. "Y'all don't look so good."

"Where's my wand?" Owen patted the pockets of his jeans.

Victoire answered with an apologetic frown and a point out to the water. Owen's brows came down in thought. "Every time I'm near a boat…"

"Least we didn't sink this one," Micah replied. She disappeared from the window to reappear at the door leading to the deck.

Owen twitched and his eyes narrowed. "What do you know about that?"

She held the door and lit her wand for them as they stepped into the night. "Not enough. Wish I knew more about what happened here. I bet your old story doesn't compare to this."

"The woman on that last boat was more than bad luck."

Victoire would argue that she and Micah hadn't been much luck either, but arguments required words. Words went against her newly-formulated goal of not speaking or breathing more often than absolutely necessary. At the sight of Owen massaging his temples, she jolted into action, rasping out one last word: "Mungos."

Micah nodded and stepped back. Victoire turned them on the spot and left Owen to explain. He had a sketchy recall, being unconscious for a period of time, but he pieced together enough for Healers, Magical Law Enforcement, and - Merlin help her - relatives.


	21. Home Is Where The Floo Is

"You are not a gypsy. A boat eez not a 'ome."

"Kitchen, parlor, bedrooms. All you need," Victoire croaked in a voice barely recognizable as human. She'd been given a tonic to soothe the damage inflicted on her throat by smoke fumes. A potion she'd been instructed to take every six hours. She'd been taking it every four. The current time was exactly three hours and forty-three minutes after her last dose.

Her mother stopped taking pity on her when she was forced to confess she'd been staying on the boat. "A 'ome should not require a motor! Boats cannot 'ave a floo. Real 'omes 'ave floos."

Victoire had learned, from about age five, to measure her mum's agitation by her accent. She was pushing Fleur to the point of rapid French, but she couldn't seem to stop.

"It's my boat, if I want to be a gypsy here, I can." The speech killed her throat, but she ignored the throbbing. "Barefoot, if I fancy." She added the last bit for good measure, kicking off her shoes with an irritable two-step. One of them skidded under a bed the women had just finished hitting with string of different cleaning charms.

"What 'as gotten into you?" Fleur punctuated her question with an impatient stamp of her own foot, clad in the black leather riding boots she insisted were every bit as practical as English wellies.

"I don't like shoes!" Victoire snapped. She couldn't stand the feel of hers any more.

Everything in the boat had been coated with soot, held firmly in place with a coating of salty film left after the seawater was drained. With every room they cleaned, more grit clung to her, irritating her skin and her to the point she stood stubbornly in the middle of the last sleeping room to be scoured - bare feet planted, arms crossed, belligerent expression aimed at her equally irritated mother.

The women shared the same build with the exception of Victoire's slight height advantage. Truth was, even if she'd been a full head taller than her mother, she still wouldn't come close to the sheer dominance of Fleur's presence. Especially, when Fleur decided to rise to a challenge.

"I am your maman. You theenk I do not know zat?"

A shadow, in the form of the lowest ranking Magical Law Enforcement officer assisting with the fire investigation, crossed the door. The interruption brought both women up short.

"I was looking for the galley-" He hesitated, caught in the twin glares of mother and daughter.

Victoire nodded her head and motioned with her hand down the hallway the same direction he'd come. With three levels of rooms magically tucked within its hull, along with two decks above water, the boat was spacious enough to accommodate a group. The nautical hallways and stairs, rounded and tunnel-like, were not. The addition of what seemed like an excessive number of Aurors and investigators pushed the capacity to near claustrophobic. Victoire couldn't decide what she wanted more: to leave herself or to kick everybody else out.

People she didn't know had been surrounding her since she and Owen appeared at St. Mungo's the night before. Micah had been smart, choosing to avoid the whole scene. She and Owen had been kept overnight. Rather than let them rest and recuperate, the Senior MLE officer, an unpleasant man with the ability to turn a casual conversation about the weather into a back-room interrogation, treated them as captive audiences for his questions, allegations, and theories as to why they were nearly reduced to cinders.

_Why_ some rouge Death Eater or other dark lunatic had targeted her boat, quite frankly, wasn't a topic Victoire wanted to think about. She just wanted them put away where they wouldn't hurt anyone else. Once the potions took effect, she'd offered the boat to sail the criminals to Azkaban when they were caught. She didn't have a plank, but she promised to get one and make them swim the last kilometer.

Officer Unpleasant hadn't appreciated the suggestion. No one had. Grant would have, had he been there, but he was not. No one stood at the foot of her bed giving her feet a reassuring squeeze through the blankets while the rest of the medical staff talked above her head.

Just as well, Victoire dropped the Azkaban escort plan not long after the heavy potions wore off. The more time she spent cleaning the destruction left behind, the more she thought a better plan was to have the ramora take the perpetrator for a tow in the surf. Not to seem ungrateful, but the memory of that sucker attaching to her back still creeped Victoire out. She cringed at the thought and the image of the resulting minor -but hideous- bruise below her shoulder blades. Yes, she was liking the ramora plan best.

Victoire stepped on a shard of wood, bringing her out of her mutinous thoughts. She winced, mouthed an inaudible curse, but continued with the hint of a limp to the door the officer she was escorting had likely already tried.

"Keep trying," she advised in a hoarse whisper before the man could inform her that he'd already been there. "Fairy magic," she rasped. "Eventually you'll arrive at the correct room."

He crossed the threshold with a suspicious glance back, but seemed to consider the fairy option better than returning to the scene of the cat-fight he'd interrupted. Alone in the passageway, Victoire hopped on one foot in an attempt to dislodge a large splinter before the nuisance buried itself deeper in her skin. She cast a Tergeo charm down the hallway, hoping the debris she removed would be the last tracked in by Ministry boots, and exhaled an annoyed breath.

She had just taken part in the most ridiculous argument in the history of communication. Plus, she had no firm way of knowing the officer wouldn't end up being blasted to the fairy's favorite stump if he touched the wrong doorknob. Materra's troop did not appreciate the invasion of the wizards who had been swarming the boat since the fire was reported. Forcibly expelling an officer of the law from the premises must carry some sort of penalty. She hoped the fairies could hold off the urge for punitive tactics a bit longer.

At the sight of a grim Bill Weasley ducking into the hallway, Victoire contemplated diving after the officer. No time for escape contingencies, though, her father got right to the point. "Victoire, I will not have you take _your frustrations_ out on your mother."

He likely had his own theory of what went on at the tournament, despite his daughter's obstinate lack of sharing. Victoire also suspected Ginny put some things together, but what she might have shared with her brother, Victoire hadn't determined. Expecting a confrontation on the nature of her frustrations, her father's next statement surprised her.

"She stressed for months over what you wanted for this boat. When she asked, you're owl said: _not French, not fussy, not like home_." His tone was impartial. He let the words she'd written speak for themselves.

Those words hit Victoire hard. What a spoiled little brat she'd been. Her mother had done the interior remodel without a floral print to be found. The boat, almost finished, would never be the same, even with the soot and water cleaned off. The smoke had seeped so far into those painstakingly chosen crisp, nautical fabrics that the smell was guaranteed to linger until they were replaced.

"I'm sorry," she replied, hanging her head with a frown.

"I'm not the one who needs to hear that." Her father kissed her forehead and left her to make her own decision on how to make things right.

Victoire leaned against the teak handrail running the length of the hallway. She needed to apologize. She wished she could be sure what they'd even argued about.

Even though she'd never experienced the boat in open water, her stomach churned as if riding rough seas. Ironic, as the activity of the boat and those onboard had finally started to calm down. But wasn't seasickness simply the result of the body struggling to maintain center of gravity with everything shifting around some perception of the horizon.

She needed to find her horizon again.

And she needed to pick herself off the wall to do it.

Pushing upright, she turned to the end of the hall where a narrow ladder staircase led to the port deck. Someone was coming below. Their head cleared the floor above only as their foot hit the last rung.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Teddy took a stride to close the distance between them. "I worried you got hurt."

Victoire's entire body stiffened against the challenge of simple proximity to him. "Oh yeah, where were you after the tournament?"

"You avoided _me_." He spoke slowly, feeling his way around the words. He actually sounded distressed. "I've been worried about you."

"The hell you care about me." The croak of her swollen throat added a measure of additional bitterness to the accusation.

"You know I do." He followed his statement with a survey of the hall and a glance back up the hatch. Frowning and lowering his voice, he bent closer to her, eyes pleading, and said, "And you know I have a girlfriend."

"What'd you think you were doing with me?" Victoire returned, not particularly concerned with confidentiality.

She should have been. Every thought, every memory, filled her with loathing and shame. Maybe she should have been stronger. Pretended she wasn't crushed at being lightly used and cast aside. Played the whole thing off as if she took their … _whatever_ as carelessly as he did.

Teddy closed his eyes as if he hadn't considered the possibility this particular conversation would have to happen.

_Seriously? Who was this bloke?_

"That-"

"Say mistake, I blast you off this boat." Her harsh words stopped him, left him staring as if assessing a trapped or rabid animal. This man in front of her was a stranger. "What happened to you?"

He bristled at the disgust in her tone and went straight for the defensive "Life happened. Things change."

"You sure did."

"If you need me to take the blame, I -"

_Blame? Bastard! _Everything came so easy for him. He decides. End of discussion. Life goes on. Never look back.

Any shred of thought to protect her wounded pride left her. She wasn't going to make this conversation easy for him.

"Why ever tell me you saw more?"

He didn't comprehend the full weight of the question, at first. "I - I always have." His face registered concern and shock in quick succession. "You think I'm some arse who'd-"

"No." She sliced her hand in front of her. "I don't want to hear how you're different. You made me love you and then you -you-"

She flailed over the rush of emotions, over the accusation fighting to make way past the lump in her raw throat. Tears she expected her eyes to be too burned and gritty to muster gathered within them. A relief she might have appreciated had she been remotely concerned with any aspect of her current physical health.

Her words, when they emerged, rang flat with defeat. "You proved I'm not enough."

"NO!"

"You can't say that." She choked out the short syllables. "Or it'd be _me_ instead of her."

The words hung between them. She stood as long as she could bear the mixture of confusion and regret reflected in Teddy's expression. And then she left, Apparating three kilometers inland to the the stump where the fairies preferred to vanish anyone who annoyed them.

Someone had thought to put a Cushioning charm on it.

She'd told Teddy how much he'd hurt her, and she'd hurt him -more than she'd expected- doing so. After years, she had let go. The ideal she'd kept safe for herself all that time was a dream, not a destiny. In holding on to that hope, she'd allowed her life to drift. She'd merely kept busy, managing to fill her time with everything but definition.

Sarah had been right. Victoire attended Bimas because she had no idea what else to do with her life after Hogwarts. If she were completely honest, she chose Bimas because Teddy would be there. And for once, they'd be on the same level.

But they weren't on the same level. Not at all. He and Iska were.

She'd invited Teddy into her afternoon secret because she missed the secrets they used to keep between the two of them. Because she wanted a _them_ again, the way they used to be. She kissed Teddy at the tournament because she wanted to. Because she wanted a _them_ that was even more than they used to be.

_Now what? _Bimas, boat, fairies, her condition, her mother, her Christmas shopping…_ Blimey, where to start? _

She expected her father to be the one to track her down, but the Appairition she heard was more of a crisp snap than a crack. Her mother stepped to her, holding out the potion for her throat. "Victoire, no more 'iding. You are stronger zan zat."

Victoire gingerly sipped the tonic, her mother frowning at the wince accompanying the swallow. She shook her head when she'd drained the vial. "You sure?"

"Of course."

Victoire wasn't. The minute she began allowing her subconscious to surface, the niggling guilt of her own inadequacies had bubbled up. "Ever think Bimas _should_ have left me out? Maybe I wasn't there for the right reasons."

Her mother blinked in mild surprise at her daughter's train of thought before she said, "You do not know what you want, ma chérie, because you let everyone else influence your choices. Quiet everything and simply imagine where you are most 'appy." Fleur kneeled in front of her daughter to meet her downcast eyes. "Not what your Papa or I expect. Not who you will be wiz. Imagine you."

Victoire frowned. Her parents were not the sort of people who were easy to ignore, even in theory and especially for one of their offspring. "Is that what you did after school?"

"Oiu. I remained after ze Tri-Wizard Tournament." Fleur removed the bottle from Victoire's grip, placing it on the ground and taking her daughter's hands in hers. "Eengland was not safe zen. Eet was lonely. I wanted to go home so many times, but eet was the choice _I_ made."

Tears began to sting Victoire's eyes. Her mother squeezed her hands and said, "Sometimes you 'ave to let go."

"You had Papa," Victoire replied. "The Order." Her mother was never alone for long.

Fleur waved the comment away with a single hand. "Events 'ave been rewritten in light of ze war's outcome. Support was not as bold or as popular when zat outcome was uncertain." Her tone softened with distant experience when she placed that hand on Victoire's cheek and said, "I _made_ my life 'ere. I was not ze wife ze Weasley's expected for your father but I am ze wife 'e needed."

The tears began to flow freely. "I'm sorry -" Sniffles, and the sobs she suppressed to slightly less painful hick-ups, sabotaged Victoire's attempt to say more. Her mother held her while her shoulders shook.

"Sorry about the fight -I know- I shouldn't hide here." Victoire managed to whisper after a while. "And I know, I should wear shoes."

Her mother stroked her hair. "As long as your feet are clean and warm, I theenk eet does not matter. Your feet are beautiful."

"No one has beautiful feet, Mum."

"You do."


	22. Snatching Defeat From the Jaw of Victory

"Finally." Al, dressed like he'd been outside for a while, stood from the steps when the group of mostly elf carolers popped in front of the Potter house. "Why so late?"

"You can't be late caroling." Victoire responded, surveying to make sure everyone had arrived. Traveling by songbook Portkey required coordinated effort. Every caroler had to turn the same song page or someone ended up at the wrong house by himself or herself. Louis held the all-time record, but Victoire was currently more concerned with Micah, Andy and Grant - the three first time singers she'd coerced into going mere hours earlier.

When she'd accounted for them, she turned back to Al. "Why so anxious?"

He shot her a pained look. "Guests."

"That bad?"

"I'm envying your time in the Forbidden Forest." His expression turned up at the thought. "You kind of owe me for that one; you _have_ to take me away."

Victoire laughed. "Are you seriously calling in your debt for caroling?"

Again, he stared at her.

The house-elves began the first song, leaving no time to coax a reason for the boy's obstinate strop.

An earlier squabble had led to the designation of a lead elf, who flourished a large candy cane like a baton. Her bat-like ears spread wide from her head on the high notes and her spindly arms swept in front of her as she conducted. What they lacked in tune, the choir made up in sheer, shrill volume.

Victoire's throat was still tender so she mouthed most of the words, only really chiming in at her favorite parts. The Apothecary had forbidden any excess vocalization, but she stopped listening to that shriveled old goat when he'd stopped re-filling her tonic. Caroling had been her tradition for years and an excuse to deliver her presents early. She was determined to go, to embrace what worked in her life and eliminate what didn't.

In that same spirit, she also dropped a class, declined Ollivander's request for her help in the shop over the Holidays (scheduling time with Fin instead to make up for disappearing on their Independent Study the last few weeks), and decided to move back to her room at the immersion house after Boxing Day.

She'd made a whole list. Life was going to be different. Better. Victoire Weasley was no longer going to dwell on what did not work.

The door to the Potter house opened when the family emerged and cheered for several more songs before James couldn't stand still any longer. He loped over to Victoire, his steps crunching on the frosty lawn. He eyed her red and white bag. "What'd you bring us?"

Victoire grabbed three boxes from the drawstring bag.

"Sweet!" James, taking his, was like a toddler, never completely caring what was in the box, simply happy to have one.

Lily accepted hers with a hug for both Victoire and Micah. "Thanks," she gushed.

Ginny invited the group in for tea. Victoire hesitated. Al's attitude became clear at the sight of Teddy and Iska framed in the light of the doorway.

Of course they'd be here. Iska was now the definition of the devoted girlfriend. After months of barely seeing Teddy's friends and family, choosing other diversions instead, her attention now centered on everything Teddy.

They looked so perfect and adult. At that moment, Victoire could no longer picture Teddy -_Theo_- in the reindeer horns or Rudolf nose of Christmases past. The thought made her a little bit sad.

_Was acceptance next? _

Who cared, she wasn't dwelling. She turned her gaze to Al. Stubborn boy wasn't the least bit interested in a present.

"Can we recruit a few more voices?"

Ginny exchanged a glance with Harry. "I don't know," she hedged as she examined Victoire closely, then Al.

"Please, Mum," the boy said. "We finished eating ages ago. There's nothing to _do_ now."

"You could attempt a civilized conversation." Ginny scolded, but James and Lily flanked her, their own pleas overpowering her irritation with Al. Lily vibrated with excitement, moving from her mother to tug her father's hand.

Victoire admitted to being a daddy's girl, but she had nothing on Lily. Another silent exchange between Potter parents and Ginny made up her mind. "Head upstairs and get ready. Dress warm!" She had to shout the last bit as James and Lily rushed the door, causing Teddy and Iska to step back into the entry hall.

"I'll help Lily." Dominique offered, liking the concept of caroling, or at least getting out of the house, better than the elements involved. Louis tucked his songbook under his arm and ambled along. They both greeted Teddy and Iska in passing.

"Brilliant." Harry linked arms with Victoire and Ginny while addressing the group. "Let's move inside while the kids get ready," he invited, killing any chance of a quick get-away.

Harry's escort brought them face to face with Teddy and Iska. Iska's social smile remained, but she never moved her arm from Teddy's or came any closer to the festive little group. Victoire wondered if she felt awkward.

_Not likely. _Iska had everything she wanted. Maybe not the unexpected interruption of the perfect evening with her boyfriend's family by a bunch of ridiculous carolers. But beyond that, what did she have to feel bad about?

Teddy was probably feeling awkward.

_Good,_ Victoire thought_. Just because she wasn't dwelling, didn't mean he shouldn't._

When Victoire spotted Andromeda, standing away from the draft with an intricately beaded shall wrapped around her, she slipped away from Harry to give the older woman a warm hug. Andromeda's smattering of wrinkles deepened around her eyes and mouth with the welcoming smile she flashed Victoire, who loved her all the more for the support.

Behind Andromeda stood Owen. Victoire blinked at him. He never specified why he couldn't go caroling with her.

She kept her distance, not knowing how to act. They'd always been stilted in Teddy's presence, but now she experienced a complete loss. Maybe she shouldn't be irritated at him for choosing to be here, but she was.

Andromeda turned toward a set of doors opening to a sitting room with a casual, lived-in feel to its soft upholstered furniture. Her steps appeared more measured than Victoire remembered. She reached for Owen's arm as she passed and let him escort her to a seat, leaving Victoire to remove her cloak.

Grant recognized Teddy when he stepped inside, pulling his old friend out of his thoughts with an enthusiastic handshake, a quick one handed hug, and a quiz on his life since Hogwarts. Grant's eyes widened at Teddy's introduction of the girlfriend at his side, or maybe the reaction was to the change Grant was first seeing. Apparently, Teddy hadn't taken care to keep contact with him either.

Ginny squeezed Victoire's arm as she passed on her way to the kitchen with six elves on her heels. Victoire envied their escape. She settled for gathering cloaks from people filing past. The rest of the group, with some introductions, moved to the lounge. Andy was the only completely new face. Harry and Ginny remembered Micah from the docks, and they all knew Grant, ever since Teddy came back from first year talking about him.

Victoire settled all the cloaks in a cupboard by the front door. With every coat she placed on a hook, she'd wait a few seconds for the space to expand with the appearance of another hook. Stepping from the back of what was now a full-fledged cloak room, she retained her Santa bag for the other gifts she wanted to deliver. She didn't have a gift for Teddy, a fact that could be glaring if she proceeded with her usual ritual.

_Christmas shouldn't be so complicated._

She hesitated at the door, only to find herself blinking at Owen again. He leaned, waiting, against the wall opposite the cupboard. Everyone else was visible through the open double-doors, chatting and seating themselves in the lounge at the end of the hallway. The distance merged the words carried to them into a cloud of sound rather than any discernible conversation.

"I can't take sides," Owen said by way of greeting, pushing himself off the wall and stepping up to close the cupboard door for her. "He's the best friend I have. Family now. I can't stuff that up."

"_You-_" She felt the urge to point out. "Aren't stuffing anything up._"_

"We're here tonight because we aren't going to be at your grandparent's Christmas Eve. Teddy's decision. _For you._"

So, she'd won. And she'd never even fully declared that battle. Teddy wasn't going to the Burrow for Christmas. Neither was Andromeda. Or Owen.

Maybe victory felt better when you hadn't been named for it. The Ministry really should ban parents from using any word found in a dictionary to brand their children at birth. Like Joy Bainridge, the Beater for the Harpies, who was by all standards the most unpleasant person in Britain. Nobody wanted that kind of pressure.

"I don't need any favours," she said. The very thought reminded her that Teddy was still making decisions for both of them. When they were together, she found the tendency sexy. Now his initiative left her -what?- not exactly the thrill of victory, or the agony of defeat. More the utter absurdity of_ a tie._

"He's struggling," Owen said. "I think he's trying to do the right thing. He's still trying to make everyone happy, and no one is right now."

"His choice," she argued. _Always his choice_. "If he's not happy, that's his own bloody fault."

Owen's jaw muscles worked before he decided to speak. "Something's going on. I don't-" He raked his hands through his hair with a frustrated exhale. "- expect you to get involved, but_ I_ need to figure out what."

She never wanted him to be in the middle. Never expected he'd be the causality in her and Teddy's failed relationship. Another day, another life, she would have been there for him, but not this day. Owen didn't expect her to, and as much as that thought hollowed her out inside, she refused to even entertain the possibility that Teddy had any serious problem.

_Besides his obvious lack of taste._

The only response she managed was a weak shrug. Their silence was broken by the sound of quick footsteps, which preceded Ginny into the hall, coming up from the kitchen with a tray of steaming cups. Victoire and Owen moved to the lounge. Harry and Grant were hovering inside the doors and split the pair on either side of their conversation. Victoire headed to the expansive stone hearth, a favourite seat from times when Aunts and Uncles dominated the chairs and sofas.

"I heard a rumour you accepted the Healer Liaison position at the Ministry." Harry was saying, gesturing for Grant to take a seat as Ginny circulated with the beverages.

"You heard correct." Grant found his way to the fireplace, sitting on the hearth beside Victoire.

"Hermione's not stopped talking about the possibilities. She started in Regulation of Magical Creatures. She'll always have a soft spot for it."

Grant nodded at Harry's comment. "I'm counting on that soft spot for updating some of the current regulations. We'll need some clout in MLE."

"You'll get it." Harry smiled with a confident nod.

"Magical Creatures." Iska chimed in, inserting herself into the conversation as easily as she inserted herself on the arm of the chair she chose for Teddy. "Sounds fascinating. Do you have a specialty?"

"Overtime," Grant responded with a self-mocking smile.

Victoire glanced from Iska's elegantly casual perch to Teddy, edgy on the chair's seat. She remained unable to read his expression. Grant's comment inspired scattered chuckles across the room. Teddy's laugh was diluted. His reaction emerged delayed, almost filtered.

Ginny approached the hearth with the tray, and nodding over to her husband, she said, "You'll have to tell Kingsley not to work him too hard."

"It's all my doing." Grant handed a steaming cup to Victoire before taking a second one for himself. "I forget to leave like a normal person."

Ginny levitated the tray back to the kitchen. "We're glad you did tonight."

"_Someone_ threatened, if I couldn't get her voice better for caroling, I owed her mine."

The first sip from her cup scalded the tip of Victoire's tongue as Grant made his comment, and she swallowed hard before she could retort. "Not entirely true. I promised presents, too." Having said that, she, in effect, made her decision to go on with her night as she'd planned. "Speaking of..."

She grabbed her Santa bag and pulled the top open wide to extract a package whose dimensions wouldn't have fit even the large bag without an Extension Charm. Grant helped her pass the gift to Ginny and Harry.

"Little warning: I'm a struggling student, so pretty much everything I have to offer is hand made."

"Wow, Vic," Harry exclaimed at the size of the present. He and Ginny peeled back the paper to reveal three canvases, each with a portrait of one of their kids.

"From me and Micah," Victoire explained. "She taught me how." The paintbrushes they used required no artistic talent; they imprinted a mental picture of the subject onto the canvas. Micah created Al's, a scene of him on the sunny dock, while Victoire had conjured her favorite memories of Lily and James for theirs.

"Yeah.. you, um, might not want to hang them on the same wall," Micah advised. Victoire laughed. Micah had to be an only child. She'd been too amazed by the amount of bickering -_fussing_, she'd termed it- the portraits engaged in to have grown up with brothers or sisters herself.

Ginny shook her head, examining each canvas in turn. "When they're at Hogwarts, I'll want them hung right together."

"My study?" Harry asked, smiling widely as they came to life.

Victoire had never seen Micah so pleased. She grinned over Ginny's shoulder, as she was being hugged, and winked at Victoire. Yeah, they did well with that one.

Another rummage inside the bag produced a midnight orchid Victoire had discovered on one of her nightly flights back home, after her bird-self roosted in one of the Bimas forest trees. She pulled out the protective glass cloche housing the rare plant, which had lit the interior of the bag. She handed the present, wrapped simply with a bow perched on top of the glass, to Andromeda. Tears welled in the older woman's eyes at the sight of the single luminescent bloom.

Victoire panicked, never having considered the plant might havebad connotations_. _

_What an idiot. _She wasn't destitute; she could have bought a scarf. _Who digs up a plant for someone? _

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..." She dropped to kneel in front of Andromeda, sputtering. "I just -just thought of you when I saw it and I didn't think -"

"No, dear child," Andromeda placed her hands over Victoire's, tears glistening above a wistful hint of a smile. "I'm touched you would remember, much less find one for me." She leaned in to kiss Victoire's forehead. "The gift is lovely, as are you. Thank you."

Relief washed over Victoire. Replaced by embarrassment for both of their reactions. _Nice plan_. Why not counter the awkwardness she had going with everyone else by reducing a proud woman to tears. _It's all about balance_.

Victoire hesitated, exposed, in the middle of the room. Her impulsive stance had placed her between Andromeda's chair and the one occupied by the couple she'd been avoiding. A split second glance was enough time to swear she caught a reaction in Iska's fine, silky eyebrows. An almost imperceptible change that accompanied a gleam in her eyes as they moved from the plant to Victoire.

On her knees.

Closer than she'd come to Iska since they'd been introduced. Too close. Victoire's own gaze stalled at the movement of Iska's foot, her toe rhythmically bouncing as she dangled the high heel of her sleek shoe from her entwined legs.

Leaning away, Victoire rocked to her feet. While other's in the room gave their attention to Andromeda and the plant, Teddy and Iska's eyes tracked Victoire as she stood and looked down on them.

Her feet remembered how to move the breathing and control exercises she had practiced for the last year, now kicking in. She returned to Grant on the hearth, hearing his voice in her head from so many previous St. Mungo's sessions, coaching her through her exhales. But _she_ was the one pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin through the eternity spent crossing back to her seat.

Grant noticed her breathing pattern. She knew he did. He looked beyond her to Teddy and Iska, his profile registering something Victoire thought might be recognition as she sat down.

"I've saw you at the Ministry last week." Grant said, snapping his finger and pointing. Iska's foot stilled. "Gerald Kincaid must be your father?"

"Yes," Iska replied, her eyes sharpening. "Father had business with the Wizengamot." Her tone was pleasant but efficient, and might have been dismissive, except Grant didn't earn a political appointment, in addition to his Healer duties, on bedside manner alone.

"I saw you in front of the Animagus registry." Grant's casual, amused voice called her attention back to the topic.

"I remembered Victoire was an Animagus but wouldn't tell her exact form." Iska spoke directly to Grant, not acknowledging the blonde sitting beside him. "I thought I could look it up for Christmas ideas. With Theo so busy at school, I was left to do _all_ _our_ shopping."

She looked like she expected a medal. Wasn't shopping what she does with most of her time all year? When she wasn't outing Victoire on her Animagus status, of course.

The tense line that had defined Teddy's jaw all night slackened with surprise. He swiveled his head to the side and up, Iska's perch on the arm of his chair giving her a slight height advantage. "You never mentioned that."

"Well, obviously." Iska, at last, turned to Victoire, a hand pressed to her heart. "I would never have guessed you weren't telling people because you'd _failed to register_." To Grant she said, in all sincerity, "I hope she won't get into trouble."

Victoire remained speechless, like they were discussing some fictional character rather than her.

Harry was the one to respond. "She's perfectly legal, simply protected from _public_ viewing." He turned to his niece, puzzled. He likely assumed she'd told Teddy.

That would have been the grown-up thing to do. She'd asked Teddy to guess once, in a letter she had no proof he'd even read. She shrugged and found herself actually leaning into Grant a little for support, feeling foolish. The whole idea made her uneasy. She didn't want anyone checking up on her. For any reason. Especially Iska.

"Must be why your father wouldn't tell either," Owen said, his eyes moving in a long, slow slide from Teddy and Iska to Victoire and Grant.

"You met my father?" More news for Victoire.

"Yeah, in Egypt the week before we hit Australia."

Victoire leaned forward, but before she could articulate anything, the girls came giggling down the stairs beyond the doorway, ready for caroling. _Great_. She could have used their distraction when she'd been trapped like prey on her knees. Now that _she_ wanted the full story, the room moved on.

"Finally!" James exclaimed from his seat on the bottom of the step. "Took you long enough."

"Dom had to fix her hair," Lily piped up, coming into the sitting room to rummage under the Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with dozens of homemade ornaments and endless garland strung with popcorn and cranberries.

"I did not!" The tips of Dominique's ears tinged pink. "Are we ready to go?"

"We were down ages ago," Louis said as they all began making their way to the door.

Lily's head popped up from under the tree. "Hold on." She pulled back, disentangling a lock of hair caught in the tree's needles with one hand and balancing a package with another. "Mum said we could give presents before we left."

Time to get the coats, Victoire decided. She'd had enough of presents in this room and conceded she was better off waiting to get Owen alone to quiz him on Egypt. He'd been watching the room like a Potions master monitoring a class full of boiling first-year cauldrons. When she asked him, she wanted Owen to focus on her, not everybody else's issues.

Al caught her arm at the door, stopping her retreat and nodding back to the room. Lily was handing Iska a stack of silver wrapped boxes, tied together with a red velvet ribbon, from all the Potter kids.

Victoire didn't like the carefully composed features on Al's face. That level of composure was far too advanced for his age. And on Al, an expression that serene could only mean he expected to get away with something.

Across the room, Iska beamed at Lily, reveling in the attention, and began opening the boxes. She slid a manicured nail under the edge of the paper, lifting the tape with precision. Barely ruffling the tissue inside, she pulled out a scarf, followed by matching gloves and a handbag from the other boxes. All were a dove gray colour, a close match to the coat she wore most often.

Victoire didn't process what she was seeing, at first. Until the prominent monogram on the bag registered for her. All the items bore 'ICK' in a bold script. Victoire turned quickly and faced the hall so not to appear that she saw what Iska had received.

"How did you even know?"

Al's mouth twitched at the edges but he showed no other break in his composure. "Ran into Micah Christmas shopping in Diagon. She may have mentioned it."

"She was joking." Victoire's whisper turned fierce. "She didn't actually get her something monogrammed."

"Someone had to." Al remained completely composed.

Victoire was anything but composed. She crossed the hall to the coat cupboard, summoning hats and cloaks for her siblings and cousins. "Lily has no clue, does she?"

"No," Al confirmed, standing in the hallway with an obscured view of the lounge. "Although, she was the one to convince Mum to have them monogrammed."

She cast him a side-glance.

"I may have pointed out the monogram sign in the window. It 'provides that extra _personal_ touch', yeah?"

Merlin, she loved that boy. But, hell, another reason to avoid Teddy now. No way he was going to believe she had no prior knowledge of the joke. Victoire tossed the stack of cloaks to Al. "Pass these out, I'm getting the elves."

She found the elf portion of the choir in the kitchen, finished with their tea and polishing the silver to pass the time. When she motivated them upstairs, the sitting room had cleared and people were mostly outside the house.

"You really are an ornery little cuss, aren't ya?"

The voice was Micah's, and Victoire wouldn't have caught the remark if she hadn't come up from the kitchen the moment Micah retrieved her coat from Al. The boy smiled as if she'd informed him he deserved the Order of Merlin. Micah shook her head, placing a hand on each of Al's shoulders and escorting him out the door ahead of her.

Victoire searched for her own coat in the entry. She glanced into the cupboard to see if the cloak had fallen to the ground, only to straighten up and see the garment extended out before her.

Teddy stood between Victoire and the door.

"Happy Christmas." He produced a small box from his other hand when she took the coat from him.

She paused. "I don't have one for you."

His head dodged to the side in a half shrug and his lips twitched in a possible grimace. "And you'll likely send this back tomorrow, but I'm giving it to you anyway."

She pulled her coat on and cautiously accepted the box. Removing the ribbon, she opened the lid to find a golden Snitch resting inside.

"You're a Snidget."

Victorie startled, but Teddy continued. "Your red eyes, that night I found you having a nightmare. Very few bird species have red eyes. Only one species is protected by law even in Animagus form. The kind of protection that extends to excluding legal registration."

"Well reasoned." Victoire was impressed. There was no way Teddy could have been told. Her secret -the Snidget form- had been protected by Fidelius Charm. He had to have sussed everything out on his own.

"Teddy, my Animagus form is a Snidget," she admitted, then hesitated, not wanting to ask the next question.

He read her concern. "No, I haven't told anyone else. You're your own secret keeper. Clever. But, you don't need a Fidelius for me."

She hadn't touched the Snitch. Teddy couldn't tell anyone now that she had specifically bound him with the charm, but the present...

She'd asked him to guess what she was, thinking that meant something if he did. He'd told Iska she was an Animagus, but promised he didn't tell her what form. What did that mean? _Did anything mean a bloody thing. S_he was tired of trying to figure it out.

"Then why the Snitch."

"My first -Ginny kept a box of stuff-" He sighed. "Iska bought you an appointment book. This is from _me_."

Teddy reached to her neck, frowning at her flinch, and pulled the magic cord for her charm necklace. He touched the Snitch, still inside the box she held, with his wand. The golden replica fluttered up, reduced in size, and fit itself on the cord right between the dragonfly charm he had given her when they were children and her father's old fang earring. Teddy held all the charms in his hand for a moment before letting the necklace drop back down.

Handing Victoire her Santa bag, he said quietly, "There's no reason. I can't tell you why it's her and not you. It just is."

* * *

**Note from Ty:** For everyone who has reviewed, I thank you so much. If I missed a response, I'm getting to them. Promise! Every comment means a lot. They inspire me more than I can tell you ~~ thanks! :)

Also, Two points for anyone remembering the midnight orchid Andromeda regretted leaving when she ran away from home became a necklace. Two more points if you find it again in a later chapter ;-)


	23. Reindeer Games

A procession of houses popped into focus in front of the carolers throughout the next two hours, and with each, the distance grew between everything else Victoire had left behind. She didn't even mind singing over the pair of Jack Russell terriers, yipping importantly at the edge of the dry-stone wall bordering Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermoine's yard.

She'd regain the Christmas spirit if it killed her and her voice.

Her siblings and cousins, ecstatic to be crossing the country and getting treats at every stop, worked wonders for her mood. Victoire allowed herself to get swept away in their contagious enthusiasm. At the joke shop, more shopping than singing took place, including some enchanted mistletoe which began following the group. Dominique was certainly behind the plot, and Victoire was amused to find Grant the recipient of the charm. He was a good sport, leaning down to kiss the cheek of each adolescent girl giggling her way by him when the mistletoe intermittently appeared above his head.

The last page in the songbook brought them to Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey's half-timber stucco cottage. The night fell windless, invigorating rather than punishing, with a clear sky full of bright stars. With the group in high spirits after an entire tray of Audrey's warm biscuits, no one appeared ready to quit. They had time for another stop before Lily, the youngest, needed to be home. Victoire believed Phineas' house was near the same village and asked whether the house-elves knew 'The Hedge', as he called it.

"Yes, Miss." A plump old elf spoke up. "All the elves are familiar with Hedgewick Estate. We can take you."

As if on cue, house-elves grasped everyone in the group, who then found themselves standing in a large circular courtyard in front of a mansion, lit up spectacularly with white lights and draped with holly garland and red velvet bows. The windows framed a party inside, filled with witches and wizards in elegant dress robes. The grounds surrounding the house were equally impressive; the trees twinkled and ice globes glowed along the paths.

"This is what he calls 'The Hedge'?" Micah whispered from beside Victoire. "I was expecting something like your grandparent's 'Burrow'."

Hedgewick Estate was no Burrow and nothing Victoire had expected. With alive band playing inside, the house wasn't lacking music. Victoire wanted to suggest they tip-toe away before anyone noticed the carolers, but the front doors swung open to reveal a stately couple, each with a welcoming smile.

The elves started singing and the group followed their lead. Phineas, Amelia, and another tall wizard that, by the looks of him, had to be Phineas' older brother Reginald, joined their parents at the front door. Other guests stepped out of several grand glass doors running along the courtyard to hear the singing.

The carolers received an enthusiastic round of applause after which the Colburns invited them inside. The group stayed in the spacious main foyer, while Phineas made all the introductions he could. "I never imagined seeing you lot this break," he finished.

Micah spoke up. "Good thing, though. I've something for you." She produced a small package and handed the present to him.

Phineas frowned. "We agreed no presents."

"Relax, it's not from me. It's from Diogy. A little thanks for all the treats you two think I don't know about."

He struggled for a moment before good manners forced him to accept the gift. "Thank you."

Reginald stepped forward examining Micah with renewed interest. "Micah, is it?" He extended his hand to her. "Reginald. Might I ask, who is Diogy?"

Micah, a pixie amid the tall Colburns, accepted the hand, which engulfed hers and said, "Diogy's my dog."

"Are you roommates?" Reginald inquired, looking back at a very uncomfortable Phineas.

Obviously, Phineas had been a little vague with his family regarding his current living situation. Amelia had visited, but no other members of his family had ventured to the immersion house. Now, Phineas had his parents waiting for the answer to that loaded question.

"Floor mate, actually." Micah supplied the response without missing a beat. She turned to Victoire. "Vic, here, is also in our house. She lives one floor above."

"Lucky Phineas," Reginald said, his eyes twinkling at the sight of his brother's distress, but he dropped the current line of questioning.

Amelia silently stepped up behind Victoire. "She's good. I see definite Ministry potential in one who can spin so effortlessly."

"Well, she's correct in a literal sense, since they did move her bed into the study room of the suite," Victoire replied in a similar hushed tone over her shoulder. "The argument could be made that they don't actually share the room."

"Of course," Amelia agreed with a nod of her head, "but the genius lies in completely sidestepping the need to make the argument in the first place."

Andy approached the girls. "What are you two whispering about?"

"Oh, nothing." Amelia winked at Victoire. "I'm quite glad you lot showed up."

Victoire looked around. "We really didn't mean to crash the party."

"Nonsense," Amelia countered. "Mum's a sucker for all things seasonal, as you might have picked up from the overabundance of decorations. I wouldn't be surprised if she _hires _carolers next year."

"Not your scene?" Andy asked.

"Today's Mum's birthday. Every year Dad throws her this huge holiday bash." She nodded to her brothers, Reginald still talking with Micah under the wary gaze of Phineas. "It's not any of our scenes, especially mine." She glanced into the adjoining room at the throngs of guests milling about. "They all know I'm a squib so they have no idea what to actually say to me. Everyone's too well-bred to be rude so they settle for ridiculously uncomfortable instead."

She sighed. "Makes these little soirées quite tiring."

Andy perked up. "You want to go with us?"

"Tempting." She shook her head with a wry smile. "It's fine. Phineas and I generally amuse ourselves. He's always so busy with school; it's been nice to have the time to spend." She cocked her head at Victoire. "He asked for more help cooking. I thought you lot had cracked that."

Victoire shrugged. They had, to most of their satisfaction, but she wasn't surprised Phineas still worked to make everything exactly right. How you did things was as important to him as the end result.

Her attention diverted to the group of younger carolers, gathered around the door and loudly debating which reindeer each would be. She began herding the group outside before anyone burst into any impromptu reindeer games in the elegant house. Phineas and Amelia walked them to the front door where Micah turned to Phineas again.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Last thing, I promise!" She added in response to his frustrated stare. "You know that cute potion's lab assistant?" She started padding her pockets.

"Yes…" Phineas' expression turned suspicious.

"It's her calling card," Micah declared as she produced a piece of parchment from her cloak.

"Micah!"

"Relax," she coached.

Victoire wondered how often Phineas heard that word from Micah in any given day.

"I took the information of a girl who's interested in you." Micah defended herself from his incredulous, far-from-relaxed, glare. "I did not _offer_ her your information. I did not _promise _you would contact her. You are in no way obligated here. All I present to you is an opportunity on parchment." She tapped the paper on his nose before he snatched it quickly away.

"What you do with it is your call." Micah shrugged amid Reginald's booming laugh from behind his siblings. Amelia appeared to be stifling a chuckle. Phineas turned a bright shade of Christmas red.

_Time to get everyone home._

They gathered at the Leaky to floo the kids to their respective homes. The pub overflowed with last minute shoppers and early revelers, but they managed to safely return the minors. Andy and Micah fought their way to the bar, but Victoire begged off, so full of treats she felt a little like Santa. She followed the path Grant, leaving because he'd committed to a double shift for the holiday, cut through the crowd. Out the door and to the side of the building, the pair found some room to Apparate.

"Mmm, I can breathe and hear again," Victoire said, vanishing her Santa bag into her pocket.

Grant exhaled a small vapor cloud into the chilly air. "Thanks for kidnapping me. I had more fun than I thought possible." He chuckled. "I never considered I might be a Comet if I were a reindeer."

"Thanks for not being too grown up to try it." Victoire felt herself smiling. Grant had been so much fun she might have to write Sara for an official fangirl badge.

"You should never be too grown up for Christmas." His warm breath carried the scent of peppermint.

"Exactly!" Victoire agreed, looking up and thinking she'd also have to tell Sara how good he smelled. "Though," she said through a giggle, "I will be grown up enough to remind you: you still have mistletoe periodically appearing above your head."

If she knew Uncle George, the charm wouldn't wear off until Boxing Day. "You might consider a counter spell before work tomorrow."

Grant's eyes rolled upward before he waved his wand. The enchanted mistletoe transformed to a Christmas cracker and dropped to his hand with the added weight. "That could be bad. I'm filling in for rounds at Mungo's tomorrow, first time back to patients since I took the Ministry Liaison position."

Victoire pulled the end he extended to her, blinking as she always did at the popping sound when the cracker split. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you. Lots of nice nurses in the halls." She winked at him. "You could get lucky."

"I'd rather not take my chances, and best not to mix business and personal."

Victoire suspected Grant's reluctance to mix bordered on sacrifice of a personal life. His Hogwarts girlfriend parted ways with him midway through his first year at Mungo's. Rumor had it she resented the hours he kept. Last year, Victoire had benefited directly from that level of commitment, never questioning, at the time, the toll his dedication took.

Not good on her part.

"Hmmm." She cocked an eyebrow, challenging his statement and the wisdom of the no-mix policy for workaholics. "You keep office hours at Mungo's _and_ the Ministry. If you bank at Gringott's, that leaves you -what- one single waitress at the Leaky?"

She patted his shoulder in consolation. "Sorry to say, but she has her own girlfriend."

He glanced at the hand resting on him, crooked grin emerging before he placed the cracker's purple paper crown on her head. "My options are as limited as my time, then." His fingers lingered on a lock of hair he brushed behind her ear with the motion. "I suppose that only leaves me … opportunity."

His lips grazed hers, and she closed her eyes, not questioning how much she enjoyed the touch and the warmth. When she opened them, she searched clear brown eyes, rimmed with dark lashes which barely curved at the ends. For a moment, she was lost in their depth.

The kiss was new, yet she sensed the pull of déjà vu.

"I'm not business?" Her voice was faint and breathy as her mind backtracked, slightly awed over the fact that she'd invited the kiss. She never considered any kind of _opportunity_ with Grant. In the proximity of the alley, the idea presented itself as a surprise, although appealing enough to wonder why she hadn't thought about the possibility before.

"Not for a long time." He continued to stroke her jaw. "You haven't had an episode since you turned of age."

Age was her answer. Her age shifted when she left Hogwarts. The gap widened between her and those she left at school while the same span of time shortened between herself and the adults she used to see as so far removed.

She was an adult. That was how he looked at her, through the mists of their breath and with those beautiful chocolate eyes. Not a specimen and no longer a patient or a child. The realization brought on a different temptation. She wanted to tell him about the nightmares and the nights they transformed her without will. Personally, not professionally.

She frowned, wondering how-

"The fire and even the dive don't count," he said, misinterpreting her expression. "Under attack, transforming is normal."

He thought she was fine. She wanted to be fine, and she wanted to continue enjoying the sheer brilliance of his touch on her face.

The moment passed.

"Generous of you," she said, instead. "Most would count at least one of those."

"I'm not most, and you don't give yourself enough credit. Iska threw you, but that was harmless. You took it well."

_Well? Harmless? _She pulled back. Her thoughts stumbled over his words before she realized he was referring to the Animagus registry and not the…Teddy.

She'd gone several hours without the thought of _him_. She'd be an idiot to slip now, and she'd be damned if she was going to. Not with the opportunity that was Grant Hayes standing in front of her. This time she kissed him, and neither stopped until a boisterous group of revelers stumbled into the alley with them.

He stood straight, taking a deep breath and watching her, one hand still resting behind her neck. Their companions didn't seem to notice them, but it was time to go, neither needed to say it. Grant stepped aside so she could Apparate.

"Goodnight, Vixen."


	24. Losing the Plot

Victoire couldn't keep the smile off her face as she stepped into the lift. She only realized she was doing it when two men, already inside, exhibited a what-was-I-just-saying conversation lull followed by a straightening of their department robes and eager smiles of their own. She should possibly have taken Grant up on his offer to escort her out of the Ministry. Instead, she'd extended their lunch together, in his shoebox office, to the point he had to rush off for a meeting. She'd almost forgotten to take the books on the fairy realm that had been her excuse to interrupt him mid-workday in the first place.

No, she wouldn't regret a minute alone with him, even if the cost was being awkwardly alone in close quarters with enthusiastic strangers.

She gave the men a polite nod and crossed her arms around the books, bringing them closer in front of her as a disembodied voice announced their approach to level five. Abstract reflections in the lift's metal door showed the men engaged in some form of sign language between them, but before any real words were spoken the door split open with a woosh.

A well-groomed witch wearing a sleek yellow hat waited behind a rush of notes emblazoned with Department of International Magical Cooperation seals on the front. Looking up from a parchment long enough to take a step in, she halted and gaped at Victoire. Her head cocked in what amounted to a very good impression of a canary.

"Oh, dear, the Welcome Witch send you here?" The woman grabbed Victoire's arm, pulling her out of the lift and saying, "We can't get involved just yet. There are channels."

"Erm, no one sent me." Victoire extracted herself from the grip but not in time to stop the lift doors from shutting without her. "I'm on my way out."

"Down," the woman corrected. "They've been looking for you."

Victoire blinked, eliciting a sigh from the woman who proceeded to punch the down button four times in quick succession. "MLE. I'm taking you now. We can't move on our part until they've done theirs."

"But what's my part?" Victoire asked. People mistaking her for someone else never happed. Victoire had no doubt this woman was talking about her, she simply had no clue what the woman assumed she'd already been told.

The woman gave a tight lipped shake of her head when the doors opened, killing the conversation. Victoire dutifully squeezed into the lift. They dropped further down into the Ministry. Past level four, where she'd come, and onto level two. The logos of the various offices in Magical Law Enforcement lined the wall across from the lift access.

"Oh, yes, I see now," Victoire said to the woman with a grateful smile. She didn't really. What she did see was Owen at the end of a hall by the turn in the corridor. His back was to her as he talked to someone she couldn't see around the corner. He couldn't be on this floor by coincidence, and she'd rather hear what happened to him before she was pulled anywhere else.

Her escort, however, didn't return to the lift. "I'll just tell them you're here."

Owen pivoted at the squeak of the woman's shoes on her approach, letting her by and giving Victoire a concerned once over. "What's kept you?"

The appearance of Teddy, stepping around the corner, hindered her ability to respond. The door behind them opening up and producing a self-satisfied Iska sealed her throat entirely. The brunette sidled up and put a hand on Victoire's sleeve.

"They found you. Good, we were getting worried." She gave Victoire's arm a reassuring squeeze before turning a smug smile on Teddy. "I believe you owe me lunch, love."

He looked at her with awe and an inkling of pride, or at least that's what reflected in his expression when his eyes met Owen's guarded ones. "Unbelievable, what did you learn?"

Iska glanced quickly back around the corner, to the office area where clerical staff serviced the various law enforcement departments, tucked further behind paneled doors. " The pair weren't Aurors, they were Unspeakables." She informed them. "No one can say exactly what their involvement means."

"The boat's not normal." Owen dismissed her statement. "We know that."

_Fairy magic. _ The thought skittered across Victoire's mind, and something obviously moved across her face. They all caught it. She was a ruddy open book today, only she seemed the sole person who hadn't read the latest chapter.

"Why are we here?" Victoire's words came in a rush as her attention was drawn behind them.

A buzz of voices emerged from a door on the back wall. A group led by the canary lady started making their way closer, through a maze of administrative desks.

"You don't know?" Iska asked.

"Vic-"

"One minute!" Owen's clipped tone fell harsh in contrast to Teddy's concern. He had also spotted the group over Teddy and Iska's shoulders. He half-turned his back on the couple, focusing on Victoire. "I have a few blanks I need filled in. About the boat that night."

Victoire pressed her lips together. She hadn't made sense of the events herself and trying to explain anything with what amounted to wild guesses only made a person sound stupid. She had no interest in sounding stupid. Not in this crowd.

The yellow hat was getting closer.

"The boat… protected us." It was all she could think to say.

"There was a woman. Could she have been Micah?" Owen persisted.

"No. Micah Apparated when she couldn't find me. The woman was someone else. "Victoire stopped short of naming LeFaye. Had no one but Owen been around to hear, she would have.

Owen all but blocked Victoire from the rest of the room, but she didn't feel safe. Not with the intensity in which he questioned her. "How do you know?"

"The voice," she said, quite sure she bordered on sounding stupid. "I recognized her voice. She recognized me -and you- like the fairies did. She helped us."

Victoire scanned the progress of the canary's group and caught Teddy's eyes dropping to the books loosely clutched, almost forgotten, against her side.

"Describe her." Owen's agitation grew as the group drew near.

"Old, mostly, but youthful." With such a fountain of stupidity now springing from her, she raked her hair back in a loose fist, trying to stop the flow. "Different every time I'd seen her."

"Every time?" Iska asked, picking up on the fairy comment -or maybe the books- and giving Victoire a concerned look. "A fairy in human form simply reflects what the humans around them would expect, not question. They can't be trusted."

Victoire dropped her hand from her hair. "They trusted us."

The sympathy emanating from Iska's mirror-perfect face bordered too close to patronizing. Victoire tensed up, even before she heard what the other woman intended to say. "They used you-"

Teddy took the slightest step between the women. "We're here to help."

"No one needs this help." Owen interrupted, his head swiveling back toward Teddy. "I'm not confused. We didn't sink the damn boat in Australia. It left without us."

"There were no fairies on that boat," Teddy reminded him. "You're memories are combining the incidents. You said so-"

"I don't think so anymore." Owen shook his head. "The boat only looked different on the outside. The bridge was exact. Think about it," he urged Teddy.

Teddy's stance of reassurance faltered. His eyes flickered to their old color briefly, the merest hint of a memory. "We never made it to the bridge."

"Ehem." The canary-woman and her flock had arrived and were stalled near the door Iska had emerged from earlier.

Teddy's head came up with purpose. "We'll stall." He linked his arm with Iska's to steer her toward the group. "Tell. Her." He insisted over his shoulder.

Owen further blocked Victoire from direct view while Teddy and Iska approached the group with a confidence that could not be bypassed, keeping the Ministry officials just beyond the corner.

"You didn't get the letter to come here?" He didn't wait for her confirmation. "They requested us, but they took Micah."

"She didn't-"

"It's not only the boat." Victoire opened her mouth, but he pressed two quick fingers against her lips, leaning close to her ear. "Michael Morgan is an American student no one's seen since Bimas approved his application."

Victoire flinched.

"They'll interrogate you on everything again, this time about her. I don't trust my memories or your . . . objectivity." He straightened up, out of time. "Be careful."

* * *

"She send you for it?" The question emerged from the dark as soon as Victoire had Apparated.

The shock of another person in the secluded back yard stole a moment from Victoire's reaction. A ghostly silhouette of Phineas shone against the wall of the immersion house. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was exactly the person she wanted to see, but she stalled at his comment.

"Diogy?" she asked. Right. Obviously. Someone needed to step up and take care of the dog. What if they impounded him? Why hadn't she thought about that.

"The wand."

Phineas' comment brought her a step closer, where she could distinguish his face in the shadows. Diogy was cowering at his feet.

"I found where she hid it," he stated. His unfocused gaze rested on a random point in the cold, dead ground of the yard. "No one noticed."

"Noticed what?"

Victoire approached, petting the dog on the back of the neck and sensing tension underneath the fur she stroked. The same agitation echoed beneath her skin, knotted in its own tight bundles of stress. She longed to take a flight -to escape and trade her clenched muscles for ones that carried instinct rather than emotions- but she feared her head wasn't clear enough.

Not after the interrogations and accusations she'd endured. The strain drained her, yet her body hummed with an uneasy excess of tightly controlled adrenalin.

Micah hadn't been the one to torch the boat. No possible way. Victoire remembered vividly the same unbelieving fear in the other woman's eyes when they had both realized what was coming toward them. She argued that point for hours, answering questions about every second Micah had been in her company since they'd introduced themselves on the dock last summer.

Had she told them about the dog? She couldn't remember.

They wouldn't take him away.

Or maybe they they would.

Micah had been charged with stealing Michael Morgan's identity and his prepaid Bimas fees. The Department of International Magical Cooperation launched a joint investigation to prove she killed him for them. Micah, at the center of the scrutiny, wasn't offering anything helpful to prove otherwise. Uncle Harry tried to intervene, but she wasn't accepting any help either.

She didn't seem to care about herself, but Micah cared about the dog.

Victoire needed to get Diogy and move him somewhere. Not to her family. Harry would eventually find out, and she couldn't risk the outcome of any dilemma he might have over official obligations. Surely, the Hedge would have ample room for a dog to fade into the background, and if they hurried, they'd get this done before anything else unraveled.

But, Phineas was unmoving. "She never used the wand from the case."

Victoire stopped. "I thought that was why the name was wrong-"

"The relative was a story. A lie she contrived to fool Andy."

"She's not…" Victoire couldn't remember the name on the label. They'd talked about it the night they discovered that Owen was carrying Alphard Black's wand, but the detail was lost to that more urgent pursuit. Another change of context, another shift in the world as she knew it.

Phineas stood and stalked through the house leaving Victoire staring after his rigid back before she hurried to catch up, now a little angry herself. Micah needed help. She needed Phineas to take the dog to the estate he called a home so the pet wouldn't be quarantined or deported.

Micah wasn't getting out of this without rational thinking and an intelligent plan, and Phineas was being pissy. So what if things didn't quite fit right now? They got the wrong person. Victoire was sure of that, and Phineas had to know that too.

He needed to bloody get over it! There was work to be done.

She caught up to him in front of the wand cabinet, rounding on him, ready to unleash her pent up frustration, but he beat her to it.

Pointing a angry finger at the glass he spun on her. "What the hell is that?"

Her own tirade died on her lips when she glanced, against her better judgment, to the wand cabinet. The wand she vaguely recalled from Ollivander's shop that summer rested against the velvet background of the interior. The smooth laurel nestled between Victoire's British wand, left in the case since her disastrous visit to Hogwarts, and Phineas' own reddish-brown mahogany wand. The French fairydust wand Victoire had been using over the holiday landed precisely on the other side of his.

"What do you see?"

There was no name on the label for the wand Phineas found hidden in the courtyard. Nothing. It was blank. Her thoughts stalled. "Th-that's not the one she had before-"

"Marie Lanier? Any idea who she is, because she's not the woman who's been sleeping here. She doesn't have one. How are we supposed to trust someone who hasn't got a name!"

"She. Has. A. Name." Victoire recouped and stepped up to him, but his rigid stature intimidated her from getting too close. She hadn't expected that amount of resistance from him.

"Not a sound argument considering you don't actually know what it is."

"Aaaahhhh!" She unloaded every bit of excess energy on him. He was no better than the papers, calling Micah every name they could sensationalize without the benefit of knowing she even existed a day ago. The ministry had several career criminals in those same holding cells, missing out on their hard earned recognition while Micah was crucified over what had to be clerical misunderstanding. "You know what? She's Micah! Not Michael. Not Detainee Six or whatever the hell the Ministry and the Prophet want to tag her. She's Micah."

Phineas turned and walked away. "I don't think I can call her that when it's not actually true."

"Teddy has always been Teddy, but you call him _Theo,_" Victoire called after him. An irrational argument; she hated the name Theo. She'd wanted Teddy to remain Teddy, and she wanted Micah to be who she was before all … all this. Why couldn't people just stay who they were?

Diogy hesitated before beginning to follow Phineas up the stairs.

"Stay!" Victoire commanded the dog. His ears went back with a low, uneasy whine and his dark tail uncurled to drop between his legs.

Phineas faltered in his march up the stairs. He turned back as Victoire grabbed the dog's collar.

"He can't stay here, and I'm not sure right now if I want him anywhere near you."

Phineas stared down the half flight distance between them, stubborn hurt etched in his features. Victoire needed to make this right, but she wasn't going to give in. He couldn't have Diogy if he wasn't going to support Micah.

She slumped against the wall as soon as she heard the footsteps resume and the loud shutting of a door on the third floor. Her eyelids squeezed tight for a long moment, until a wet nose nudged her hand. Bringing her head up, she faced the wand cabinet. The ministry had confiscated the wand Micah had in the house when they took her. Marie Claire's wand. That wand never cast the spell for Fiendfyre, and Victoire was certain that this wand Phineas found didn't either.

But this wand had something to say. She couldn't get it out of the case, but maybe she didn't need to. She'd gotten quite good at following wands, and she knew where to start with this one.

Before she went anywhere, though, she needed a shower. She urged the dog upstairs and Diogy responded quickly, bounding up until the third floor landing where he stopped in front of Phineas and Micah's door. A parchment with a log of officers and what they'd signed out of the room was wedged awkwardly between the door and the message board nailed to it. Any other day, the idea of Magical Law Enforcement improvising a search and seizure without so much as a sticking charm would have been highly entertaining.

There was nothing entertaining about the worried sniffs the dog made around the door. Diogy required persuasion to move further and the effort to pull him away wrenched at Victoire's chest.

He didn't understand, he couldn't.

Obedience won out. The dog eventually followed her up the narrow attic stairs to her room, stale and dusty from being unoccupied while she hid from Teddy. Her post tournament fit seemed a little pathetic now. Who was she to harbor a grudge against Teddy for deciding on his own happiness? All of those things she believed to be real, to be mutual, were really nothing more than him clearing up his own doubts when challenged by her confusion.

Understanding made it better.

Grant made it better.

_Could Grant take Diogy? _For a split second she considered the thought, but no, not unless they allowed pets into the Ministry. He worked an insane amount of hours, even without the frequent shifts at St. Mungo's to maintain his Healer certification. She'd had to make an appointment to see him today. He needed a reason to go home, but she wasn't convinced he was ready for one.

Early streaks of moonlight filtered past the fine swirl of dust she disturbed entering the room. Victoire nudged the dog inside, closed the door behind him, and crossed to turn on the desk lamp. The weight of every minute of that day pressed on her at once. She exhaled and cradled her head, an attempt to fend off the first pulses of throbbing at her temples.

Diogy didn't come far enough into the room to touch the rug. He planted his furry bottom on the wood floor in front of the door and whined up at her.

"He's being unreasonable." She dropped her hands from her temples and grabbed a bowl to fill with water. Placing it down by the desk and straightening up, she waved a hand at the offering. "Go on."

The dog continued to stare; his throat still emitting low staccato complaints.

"What's the point of a Roommate Code if it crumbles at the first sign of an international incident!"

He turned and scratched at the door. She turned and headed for the shower.


	25. Familiarity Breeds Attempt

A pub wasn't the best place to parade an animal through the Floo. At least not one the size of Diogy. His thorough canine shake when they'd stepped from the fireplace hadn't won them any friends. The shower of Floo powder might have been overlooked. Who hadn't swallowed that regularly? The stray black hairs mixed in, and now being fished from drinks, were noticed.

Their entrance hadn't been ideal, but Victoire's options were limited. She couldn't Apparate with the wiggling beast, and he'd have killed them both on a broom. Diogy, unaware of the glares in that enviable dog-way, now wagged his tail and darted a bright pink tongue over his nose, proud of how well he'd cleared his thick coat and simply happy to be out of Victoire's bedroom.

He'd scratched grooves in the floor trying to dig under the stairway door while she showered. Her sleeve now sported small ragged holes where he grabbed the fabric and pulled her out of the room entirely. The bristled hair on his shoulders and wary, whiny pooch-attitude disappeared as soon as they'd descended the attic staircase. She managed to get him out of the immersion house unseen, but still lacked a plan for what to do with him.

What she had was an agreement to meet Owen and the hope of catching Ollivander at his shop.

"You had me worried." Owen stepped up, waving away a floating dog hair on route to tickle her nose. He tucked her arm in his, guiding her out of the Leaky Cauldron to the back courtyard with Diogy on their heels.

"Did Fin know anything?" he asked as soon as he had her out of sight. When she didn't answer, he cocked his head and gazed sideways at her. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" She protested quickly. Too quickly. "He's being unreasonable. I couldn't talk to him."

Owen nodded and that stupid gesture sparked the anger she spent a good half-hour trying to wash away. She dropped his arm and turned on him. "He shouldn't be!"

He stared at her until she blinked, then said, "He thinks she played him."

"That what you think?"

"I need more information to know what to think."

Victoire threw her hands up to make her point. "That's logical."

Her voice bounced around the brick walled courtyard. Diogy followed the echoes with his head, but Owen wasn't distracted by her sound effects or her perspective.

"She didn't live with me."

Out-staged by a plain comment that simply landed on its mark, she huffed. "That's just being stubborn. And unhelpful."

He shrugged his consent, and ignoring her petulance, snapped his fingers for the dog's attention. "Better luck with your wandmaker. I'll take the dog with me."

She brightened. "Thank Merlin! I didn't know where he was going to find a home."

"Not to keep," he corrected, uninterested in what his expression categorized as a ridiculous whim, but no less amused by her attempt. "I live in a hotel."

Victoire didn't fancy being the amusing one. "Couldn't you move to a big-boy flat?"

"No room service."

"Dogs are great for attracting women-"

"Don't need the competition."

Now he was merely irritating her for sport. "So why do you need him? If you aren't going to even consider giving him a home!"

"Dog's been homeless before. They lived on the docks until moving into that muggle fun-house."

She hadn't realized she'd stepped back until he reached for her arm to keep her from thumping a trash can with her heel. She'd seen Micah and Diogy almost every day last summer. She couldn't have missed a fact that big.

"Noooo."

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Not sure," Owen said with a squeeze of her shoulder. "That's why I need him. I reckon anything to find has to be within a click of the harbor."

"That's a leap," she said, but the comment was more of a stall. Her scattered thoughts tripped over themselves to keep up with current events, or at least Owen's version of them. How did the same time frame since leaving the Ministry prove so much more informative for him?

Owen flung a thumb at Diogy. "She couldn't have transported him every day. The Knight Bus is the only way I see to get him a distance. They stayed somewhere near."

Mention of the bus scarcely passed his lips when the distant squealing of tires announced the approach of Owen and Diogy's ride to the shore.

"Do you think…" She frowned; suspicion of the answer halted the question midway out.

"Nothing's been normal since I got back. May not be her," Owen said, earning a smile from Victoire, until he added, "May not _just_ be her. I'm talking to the fairies, too."

"Be careful with that." She turned to watch Diogy sniff at the gate beyond which the triple-decker monstrosity Victoire had never actually ridden clanked and sputtered.

Owen grabbed the dog's collar and faced her. "Find my wand, they said. I'm spared."

"The spare." Victoire corrected, but stalled, her memory reluctant to share even with her. "Micah called you that." She frowned at him, standing there framed by the courtyard walls and the garish purple of the bus.

"I heard it from the fairies," he replied.

Owen reached to give her arm another squeeze with the same hand that held the wand she'd always known him to carry. She felt the pressure of it between her and the reassurance of his touch, but only for a moment. He remembered the wand and tucked it in his jacket before half lifting the dog up to the steps for the bus. She never saw the door fully close behind him. They were gone in a flash with nothing but the echoes of the sputtering engine -and her- behind.

Follow the wand.

Victoire couldn't guess what another wand search would bring Owen. The first brought Owen his past. She only hoped straightening out Micah's wands would bring some light to hers. Merlin knew, Micah wasn't helping herself. Or letting anyone else help her.

Victoire had actually admired her friend's resiliency, Micah's ease of accepting any situation. Adapting. Victoire never anticipated the other side of that coin. The fact that a person who relied solely on their skills to rebound, could prefer others around them not to get in the way. Not to see.

Micah could have lived on the boat, if Victoire had known, if she'd bothered to question _anything_.

She'd be questioning quite a bit from this point on.

* * *

Ollivander was edgy. He'd abandoned his shop-closing Earl Grey, still half-full, in favor of a soothing chamomile. Guilt over adding to the wandmaker's day nearly stopped Victoire from pushing for the answers she needed. Her former boss wasn't ideal under pressure, and he'd spent the day answering to Aurors who'd dropped in without so much as a note announcing their intent.

Regrettably, she'd done the same.

At least Ollivander had found a shop assistant to ease the burden. Rather, her parents had likely found one for him. Victoire recognized the man - the werewolf, Wren's father from the treehouse. Edgar was his name. Judging by the fact that Wren had a caretaker staying with her on the last full moon, the werewolf foundation had approached the family some time the previous month.

Victoire no longer needed to make the effort to check on the girl who'd captured her and nearly loved her to death. No longer needed to transform early so a nightmare wouldn't steal her thoughts and her actions before she could perch in a nearby tree, strategically out of reach. Wren's bad nights were over.

Victoire hadn't experienced a nightmare, or an unconscious transformation either, since before the tournament. Before she fled the immersion house and hid away. Real life had become a bad dream since then, and she remembered all of it. She'd take the nightmares back, if they meant everyone else wouldn't have to suffer with her. But that choice wasn't hers.

"How could that be?" she asked again, after Ollivander swallowed his latest sip of tea.

"The wards of the immersion houses were originally developed for Azkaban, through Bimas, after removal of the Dementors. Double protection, as it were, preventing wands from being smuggled to prisoners while preventing new spells -even non verbal- from being cast within the boundaries." He placed his cup down only to pick it back up without sipping. "Quite ingenious and quite precise."

"But it's blank. Does that mean the wand holds no affinity?"

"The core may be protecting its owner out of affinity. Or retaining a charm cast upon it outside the wards. There's no way to tell with certainty without retrieving the wand from the cabinet, and that won't happen unless that woman returns for it."

"What about the other wand. Marie LeClair?" The name still felt foreign to Victoire even from her own lips. She'd twinged whenever Ollivander referred to _that woman_, but resisted correcting him. She was supposed to be questioning, as foreign as that concept was to her, not correcting facts she hadn't verified. "Is that her real name?"

"Marie LeClair died in 1816. The Aurors affirmed that. The wand is most assuredly a ghost wand, only active because its master still roams the earth."

"A ghost can't use a wand!"

"No, but they can keep one active for centuries. That's documented fact."

Edgar returned from locking the shop door and pulling the closed sign. "The Hit Wizards are looking for Marie's ghost now, in the Cities of the Dead."

"There are cities of the dead?"

"That's what they call cemeteries in New Orleans. The crypts are all above ground so they tend to retain their occupants." He smiled as he grabbed the broom to sweep the front. "Like a big campground."

When Edgar left the back room, Victoire slid to the front of her chair and leaned forward toward Ollivander. She had a different question that needed to be answered. "Have you heard about _familiars_? Can a wand bond a person to the creature in its core when it chooses them?"

Ollivander blinked and sighed. "Is this for Bimas?"

That was as good an excuse as any. "Possibly, but I can't find any real information on them."

"How far back have you looked? Start with Merlin. He bonded apprentices with counterparts in the fairy realm, but you shan't find much more than legends, the merging of magical realms has always been viewed with suspicion and fear. Much can go wrong with the balance required for such a bond."

Victoire pictured herself and the fairies. She didn't feel bonded. Most of the time she felt bullied. Working together on the boat was a constant tide of standing your ground and giving in. Neither let the other have their way.

If that was LeFay's test, Victoire still didn't understand what anyone had to gain. "Why do that?"

"To guard the more powerful artifacts of his time. Beings and beasts quite naturally come about things from different perspectives, but each would share the fear of letting the other posses any power inherent in those magical items for individual gain."

Ollivander made a move to get up, but Victoire halted him with another question. "Who's made that kind of wand since?"

The wandmaker stood quickly and glanced at the front of the shop. "No one with good sense. The divide between the fairy realm and wizards deepens every day. Wand shops have been reduced to cinders over the slightest hint they might dabble in the kind of magic required to blend the two."

"Why?" She whispered now too.

"There are zealots, still. Fundamentalists whose goal is no less then reclaiming those relics for wizards. Any hint of a connection -any collusion with the fairy realm- would bring down their wrath."

_Wrath like Fiendfyre._ A cold dread settled deep inside her. The boat wasn't the target. She and the fairies were. Someone already knew what she still hadn't pieced together completely.

Uncertainty stole all other questions from her. She managed a small thanks and cleaned the tea mugs from the desk, shock reducing her movements to mechanical habits. But, the minute Ollivander diverted to talk Edgar through shop closing tasks, Victoire instinctively reached for the sales ledger resting behind the counter.

She flipped as fast as she could through the thick volume for Teddy's wand.

Even though, she was already convinced. She knew as sure as she'd sat in this shop and snooped through the same records waiting for Teddy to pick her up. As sure as her sixteen-year-old lovesick self memorized a thousand inconsequential facts about the boy she wanted. Wordsworth had been the name of the griffin whose feather was the core of Teddy's wand.

One thing she couldn't say for sure was whether she'd ever seen Ollivander's seal on that wand.

_Theodore Remus Lupin._ His name on the page stood out, surely she'd focused on that back then: the sound of it, the look of it. She'd moved on to absorb the facts -yew, 12 inches, griffin feather, good for protection- but she hadn't realized the implications of the spaces left blank in the record.

Victoire had rushed a few entries in the ledger herself, when a sale encroached on her time to leave. Ollivander never consulted the book so she could be lax, on occasion, and assumed others had too. But now, the lack of a wandmaker's initials and any detail of how the feather had been acquired held new meaning for her.

Teddy could become another target. If he wasn't already.

Victoire had no clue how she, ex-girlfriend and uneasy friend, was supposed to approach that bit of news. She slid the book back, jumping at a shadow crossing the front door. The expression in the glass reflected her own anxiety, but the face was Owen's. He held a metal box under one arm, not moving, while Diogy made nose prints sniffing at the door.

Every answer she'd gotten had come at the price of more to worry about. Micah and Teddy, concern for each now pulled her in circles. She wasn't sure she could afford to ask Owen what he'd found.


	26. Fear Is a Four Letter Word

Victoire removed the frayed leather leash, a spare from a hook beside the back door of the immersion house. She limited herself to taking only items a dog absolutely required or ones she could find outside the suite Phineas and Micah no longer shared. Her anger at Phineas hadn't lessened, but in truth, she dreaded the thought of confirming for him that Diogy would be staying with Edgar's family in their Bimas forest cottage.

Owen, sidestepping her, dropped a bag of dog food next to the door. "You have to tell Teddy."

The leash creaked in protest as she wrapped the length of it in a tight circle around her palm. "No, you."

They'd loitered on the back step of the darkened wand shop for an hour after closing. All the while, the metal box sat unopened between their feet. No amount of prying or prodding with any spell could break the seal to the one thing Micah left hidden within the make-shift shelter she'd inhabited before Bimas.

Worse, Owen never talked to the fairies. They'd vanished along with the boat. Victoire's revelation about the wands remained the only new information they had, and neither could decide whether the wands -ghost or familiar- were a piece or their own puzzle.

LeFay's island seemed the most logical place to start for answers, and maybe the boat and the fairies were there. Owen had thankfully endured enough recent mystery to accept the impossibility of what she explained, but Teddy wouldn't hear the theory with the same perspective. She'd be asking him to join them on faith.

No planning. A big request for a man like Teddy. His life was now so normal that anything not involving Victoire could have been scripted. His old taste for adventure, even the well planned variety, escaped him somewhere in his years abroad.

"He doesn't want to hear anything from me."

Owen slid the leash from Victoire's hand, not commenting on the red impressions her nervous winding left across her knuckles. "Teddy would listen to anything you say," he stated instead.

She wasn't so sure. She didn't understand the man Teddy had become; still almost grieved for the man she thought he'd be. She wouldn't deny she needed him -they needed him- and for once, she believed Teddy needed her. But he had Iska, who was everywhere at once with her invasive helpfulness.

"Use the guilt he's been wallowing in to cut through any doubt."

Absently flexing her hand, she stretched her time for a response. Guilt wasn't enough to offset the doubt. What they had to explain couldn't be found in any resource, not specifically outlined anyway. She'd made a leap interpreting events. One she believed in, but Teddy would want proof, something they'd only get if he helped them find it.

She wasn't reaching out to Teddy to borrow his strength. Not this time. And she couldn't have him think so. "It needs to come from you, not the irrational bint trying to keep hold of what she never had."

"That's not-"

She stared down the objection in Owen's expression with what she hoped was confident determination and nothing near defensive stubbornness. "I'll go to dad with the chest. Won't take him long to open it, but if there's anything, he'll need to give it to the Ministry quick before anyone thinks we tampered with it."

"Dibbs. I found the chest."

"I've the curse-breaker for a parent."

They stared at each other for an unprecedented few breaths, neither normally patient enough for a stand-off. Both jerked back when the door opened. Victoire instinctively stepped in front of the dog food bag, but Phineas, too startled by their proximity, failed to register what she lamely tried to hide.

He recovered quickly and found his voice, a tense-sounding clipped version of his usual measured speech. "I suppose you've heard."

"What now?"

"Michael Morrone's father found him alive and living off the family vault on a Caribbean island," Phineas said. "He knew she was going to school for him. They'd planned it."

Owen gave a low whistle, scratching his eyebrow with a finger.

Vindication surged through Victoire. "See," she accused, facing each in turn with expectation. "That makes sense," she went on. "And what does BIMAS care, most of us are only here to fund fellowships. I was only admitted to be experimented on!"

Phineas winced. "You came to me. You agreed to everything we did."

Victoire would have taken a step back, had her heels not been pressed tight against the dog food bag. "What?"

"Forget it, you scarcely bothered to show up." Phineas scrubbed his face with a hand before fixing her with a deflated scowl. "You think he was her only chance to go to school? She didn't have to go about it by _fraud_. BIMAS very much cares. They're asking for reparations, and it's only right to. Don't make the institution the villain to romanticize the situation."

Rattled and repeating himself, Phineas continued. The words escaped him, unprepared, all precision gone. "She didn't have to -no- not this way. She's intelligent! Intelligent enough to have found another way."

The earnest, troubled expression in his eyes robbed Victoire of a ready reply. She frowned down at the floor, the fight gone from her.

Micah _was_ smart. She tripped over basic spells, but managed to grasp topics from abstract reading assignments like a walking encyclopedia of the obscure. She debated Phineas on the least little fact she'd recalled to the point Victoire could only sit back and listen to their banter. Micah read people too, or she always had Victoire. And the comments Micah offered her were never intellectual, but always real and usually close to the mark.

Victoire pulled her head up and challenged Phineas in one last attempt for common ground. "Micah told me once, the biggest regrets were over things done for the wrong reasons. She had the right reasons for doing this."

He met her glance, about to say something, but Victoire pressed on- "Who are we to say she didn't deserve the education someone else threw away?"

Phineas blinked, but then slowly shook his head. "She chose this," he said as much to himself as to Victoire before he lifted to his full height and frowned down at her. "Consequences are what choices are all about."

"I'm not wrong about her."

"You wouldn't admit it if you were." His voice was hollow, the fight also gone from him. He walked away with a parting, "Even to yourself."

Owen let out another low whistle as soon as Phineas exited the room. His gaze swung to Victoire. "I reckon we forget the box; doesn't feel like it's connected now."

Victoire moved to speak but he cut over her. "Focus on the people at greatest risk. You. Teddy. Let's find who or what's doing the hunting here before someone actually gets torched."

The final word hung between them for a beat before she nodded. "They've already lost familiars, if the smoking trees mean what I think."

He pulled her to him with a strong grip that didn't relent when she'd curved into his side, holding on herself.

"We'll convince Teddy together," Owen whispered above her ear. "You have everything yet?"

"One more thing," she answered and dashed to her room for the books she'd borrowed from Grant. They lay forgotten, spread across the desktop where she'd tossed them in her rush. Scooping them together, she stashed the lot in the woven bag she used to pack for the boat.

_The boat_. She sighed through the tightness in her chest, hoping it and the fairies were safe at the island.

Two books remained protruded at odd angles from the top of the bag, defying her attempts to push them in. She snaked a hand to the bottom and pulled out the object stuck underneath them: Wordsworth's goblet.

Perfect, maybe she'd present the griffin's relic to Teddy as an icebreaker, explain why he had more claim to the re-purposed toenail than she. That should get them off on the right talon.

Merlin, she was losing her sanity.

And her grip. The griffin goblet slipped from her hand and under the bed with the speed of a downhill roll.

_Bugger_!

She reached beneath and patted near the headboard, touching a pair of cylindrical objects. One wedged between the headboard and the wall while the other, the goblet, pressed against it. She pulled both into the light.

Wrinkling her nose at the dusty bottle of gillywater, she held a vague recollection of snatching one from Teddy in her fever. Four days of horrendous sickness, and she'd not given that time a second thought. Not when remembering Teddy's care directly opposed the grudge she'd harbored for breaking her heart.

Karma was truly kicking her arse now.

She propped the bottle on the desk and grabbed the talon goblet up, swinging it into the bag and the bag on her shoulder in one motion.

Owen waited for her by the front door, tossing the rolled-up leash from one hand to the other out of Diogy's reach. "Dog first," he said, then went on to comment with a point at the wand case. "The house is filling up."

"Classes start tomorrow," Victoire explained. Her next day was scheduled to start with another Trimble meeting, a prospect she dreaded. If Phineas had been awarded one of the coveted fellowships for advanced students, her fate would be at the mercy of Trimble's professional agenda. An uncomfortable lump welled in Victoire's stomach. She certainly hadn't given Phineas any reason to stay with her.

The tap of Owen's finger on the glass-fronted case brought her attention back to him. His expression decisive, he said, "Teddy'll have to come back tonight. We hit him then."

"That'll be late." _Iska wouldn't let go before she had to._ "But best," Victoire concluded.

A conversation at the immersion house raised less suspicion than cornering Teddy elsewhere. Vicoire now feared suspicion like it was present in the flesh, tracking them from out of direct vision -but only just- and poised to pounce at their slightest slip. Bringing Teddy into this mess couldn't become that mistake.

Victoire could no longer anticipate Teddy's reactions. That ability slipped away when she'd lost the connection they shared; a price they paid for crossing the line in their friendship. She trusted Teddy not to betray her confidence, but she held no control over what he did with his own information.

_Would he protect himself?_

Owen lobbed the leash her way, breaking her from her thoughts once again. She managed not to drop the leash in her awkward catch and the rush of the dog out the door, but she almost missed her wands returning to her at the threshold. She hadn't held them both for weeks and frowned at one then the other, side-by-side in her hand.

"Which should I take?"

No immediate response from Owen. She glanced his way only to have her attention drawn back by a dark spot in her peripheral vision. A muck-colored beetle lit on the end of her Ollivander wand. Victoire flicked her hand, but the bug perched on, spindly legs gripping the edge. Claw-shaped jaws jutted out from a hard bulbous plate that formed the insect's head. Scowling, Victoire gave the wand another shake, but the beetle remained, grazing hairy feelers over the wand's surface.

The beetle then skittered from that wand tip to the other. Victoire recoiled, repulsed by the insect's crusty wings and the jittery movements against the smooth wood. Then the insect knocked its skull against the top of the wand, making a sharp tapping noise.

_Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick._

The door punctuated the sound with its own click behind Owen. He stepped up and, looking over Victoire's shoulder, reached around to flick the bug off.

"Take both," he answered.

Victoire blinked but didn't second-guess. She tucked the wands in her coat and pulled the fabric tight around her. Passing the lamp post, she flinched when she heard again-

_Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick._

This beetle wasn't the same insect. Its call was answered from the house where the first one landed. Victoire made her own sound, one that was almost a squeak. "Bloody bugs make my skin crawl."

As if in agreement, the dog growled before lifting his hind leg to mark the post.

Owen nudged her forward. "Don't get superstitious on top of suspicious."

"What do you mean?" She scanned his expression, but as soon as he realized she hadn't understood, he shook his head.

"Forget the bugs," he said, snapping his fingers for the dog to finish watering the post.

Their approach to the forest made the advice worth taking. The dirt trail was far creepier than soaring through the treetops. She'd certainly be more nimble as a bird, the feathers better insulation from the damp, gritty sensation of leaves and sticks and spiderwebs brushing past.

"Those puny things are nothing compared to back home," Owen continued. "We've real bugs there."

"Really, outback boy. _Really_?" Victoire scoffed, half stumbling over an exposed tree root. "You grew up in hotels."

"You're looking at the best damn billywig hunter in my year."

Victoire was actually looking at the ground, regretting her choice of canvas trainers, now wet and stained dark from the spongy ground. When she did glance up, Owen swept a branch out of her way to reveal a devilish grin on his face.

"For potions, I'm sure." She teased, but honestly, the image of Owen hovering and giddy over a billywig sting was hard to picture.

He winked as she ducked under the branch he held. Talking was good; talking eased the tension. She'd keep talking.

"D'you have a net for that?"

"Nah, a net's sloppy," Owen replied. "Made for those who chase random movement. You'll get lucky sometimes, but mostly you'll get sticks and leaves." He pulled another branch down only to release it with a thrashing rustle back above them. Talk wasn't as good for Owen as movement.

"So, what's the secret?"

"You listen," he answered very matter-of-fact. Then he smirked. "Billywigs are like women. They prefer to run about in groups, but like to stand out. When three or more of them are together, one's going to flutter their wings with this flirty little humming noise. You hear that, you know your going to get something."

"You know a lot about _billywigs_, then?"

Owen shrugged. "I liked the sting; I learned the bugs."

Victoire couldn't hold back her laugh, wouldn't have wanted to, and the force of it moving through her liberated the tightness within.

From her monthly full-moon flights to check on Wren, Victoire estimated the clearing with the little girl's treehouse to be close. A sharp bend in the stream opened the wall of trees on one side and all but pointed to the location of the miniature hideout across the grassy meadow. The treehouse wouldn't be visible, but the base tree's size and the distinct curve of the lowest branch would give it away to anyone who'd been nearly made a pet within the child-scale walls.

The path began to follow the bank of the stream, but a dead tree barricaded the footpath and Victoire's vision. They'd have to get over the deadfall for Victoire to verify their location. Diogy hesitated three sniffs before bounding down the bank and sloshing through the water.

"This stream forms a lily pond in a low area of a clearing. That's what we're looking for," Victoire said. "Edgar's cottage is a five minute walk from the, erm, the treehouse."

"Treehouse?"

"Long story."

"As complicated as the last story?" Owen asked. He boosted her on top of the fallen trunk and she grabbed his hand to pull him up after her.

She hesitated, balancing on the fallen trunk beside him, before she answered. "Nothing as complicated as all that," she said, and slid down the other side into a tangle of leaves and limbs.

_Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick._

If the tree trunk hadn't rested at chest level, she'd have missed the sound in the rustle of the leaves or the dog's barking ahead of them. She shivered when realization dawned on her-

Owen said superstition.

_Deathwatch beetles._

Insects were no more reliable than tea leaves in predicting events, that's what her head told her, but Victoire's heart raced when she looked over the stump where the tree once stood and to the trunks of trees all along the path. She couldn't recall ever seeing so many big bugs in one place and had only read about the tell-tale clicking the deathwatch beetles now made.

She hurdled free of the tree limbs and grasped Owen's hand when he disentangled himself, pulling them both to the light of the clearing.

"Does you prowess extend to all bugs?" she panted when she broke out of the trees.

They weren't as far as Victoire expected. The pond reflected the sun dropping below the tree-line a quarter way around the clearing. The ticking intensified in the wake of Owen and Victoire's retreat, growing constant, drowning out the other sounds of the forest.

"Don't go getting the willies," Owen said, but he matched his strides to her quick pace across the open grassy area and slid his wand into a solid three finger grip.

"Diogy!" Owen's shout was answered by wild barking.

The black dog broke through the brush in two long leaps before the forest exploded with movement. A dark shadow emerged from the trees hemming the clearing. Insects from every direction took flight, peeling off their perches in fluid, fast moving streams and reforming in a coordinated mass.

Diogy whirled around, leaping and snapping at the emerging swarm. His efforts were ignored as they flew directly over, out of reach and towards Victoire and Owen.

A raven, looking for an easy meal, dove from above into the main stream of the swarm. The insects converged on the bird in a roiling ball of motion. The teeming mass swerved and jerked, their collective motion forming a living funnel and dropping a matted bundle of feathers that could only be the dead bird to the forest floor.

Victoire drew her wand.

"_Protego!__"_

_"Incendio!"_

"Bloody-" Owen grasped Victoire's wand hand before he gasped out an extinguishing spell against the flames that bounced back from her shield and singed them both.

"No more independent thinking!" He dropped his grasp with that command and blew the lingering smoke from her.

His examination was cut short when the world grew dark and the air filled with the muffled whine of insects in motion and the constant thudding and scratching of the swarm overtaking them in a solid wall of movement.

"Reinforce the shield just inside the one you cast?" Owen shouted in her ear.

She nodded.

Her initial shield only left room for them to stand and extend the smallest arm motion for casting. _No room to Apparate_. The world closed in further with the additional shield.

Owen lit his wand, and Victoire wished he hadn't. The Protego Charms took the shape of a cocoon. Or, if something buried you in one, a coffin. Victoire couldn't stop blinking, her vision blurred against the motion mere inches from her face.

The tumultuous noise rose to a frenzied pitch with waves of the bugs crashing into the barrier, each impact testing its strength.

The swarm wasn't moving on. She counted on it flying past, not attacking. Her spell trapped them with no solid options for defense once the shield gave out.

Victoire summoned help the instant she saw the first beetle bore through the outer barrier. The insistent tingle from the mark on her ankle couldn't offset the dread of more beetles pouring in through the crack in the weakened shield and beginning to press against the second.

Owen seized her hand in a tight grip. "Water first," he called in her ear, "then fire if the barrier collapses."

She twisted to bury her face briefly in his neck, just long enough to say she was sorry against his skin. He couldn't have heard, but she hoped he understood.

Her flesh crawled with the touch of beetles on her feet. She stomped and spat water on them, stomping again to squish them.

More wriggled in from above, below, right and left.

Owen's light disappeared at the casting of the first defensive water-blast, leaving only strobing bluish flickers from their spells. Victoire's understanding of events came in stop-action flashes.

Cracks in the barrier splintered out, too numerous to spray with precision. Victoire and Owen drenched the inside of their failing shield with jets of water, laying insects on their backs, but more bugs simply used those sodden bodies to climb over or launch themselves upward.

Sharp pinpricks assaulted Victoire's wand hand. She gripped with all her might, squishing beetles who'd crawled between her palm and the hilt of her wand, but more pried their way between. Victoire's wand ripped from her hand as she slipped from Owen's reach.

A wriggling wall of darkness cut Owen out, isolating Victoire. From him. From everything.

For a panicked moment her ears filled with the crackle of what she feared was Fiendfyre. The deafening sound wasn't flames, she realized with a twist of nausea, but the impact of hard little beetle bodies swirling around her in a cyclone, their shells hitting each other, the ground, and her.

The insects pressed tighter together, overpowering Victoire's senses through shear numbers. She sneezed and coughed against the invasion, pulling her clothes over her head to keep bugs from assaulting her eyes, her ears. To keep from drawing in the wriggling insects on the inhale of a breath.

A million wings and legs batted her clothing and prickled every pore of exposed skin. Her hair tingled with the movement of creatures tangled within the strands.

_Transform!_ Her body vibrated with the need for a defense, but she fiercely resisted the adrenalin, the pressure. If she couldn't outmaneuver the swarm, she'd repeat the raven's mistake.

_You're a witch_, she told herself, _save yourself, or at least put up a fight until someone else can_.

Victoire reached for her remaining wand, an effort that allowed several beetles to wriggle into her coat.

"_Incendio_!" she screamed and spun, pushing herself within the sheath of insects covering her.

The bugs didn't burn, but they scattered.

A vice-grip clenched her arm and dragged Victoire off her feet. She fought instinctively against the grasp forcing her up and backwards, but the hold didn't relent.

A cold burst of water to her chest knocked her flush against her captor.

Uncle Ron's voice cut through the noise ringing in her ears. "Hang on. We're going for the pond."

Victoire relented, allowing herself to be twisted and tossed over her uncle's shoulder like she'd been as a child who'd begged for the thrill of a ride.

A dog's wild yelp rang through the din. Victoire tried to turn her head in the direction of the shrill whimper, but couldn't. She tried to call out, but the smack of the water's surface and a rush of cold pushed the breath out of her.

Her lungs burned.

The uninvited passengers that had attached themselves to her floated up while her body remained below the surface, secured by strong hands. Breath returned with the emergence of a protective bubble around her head.

Time stalled underwater, a stark and disorienting contrast to the assault on her senses she'd just endured. She remained, cut off from everything until she was lifted to the surface, the grip exchanged, and her father's arms pulled her in.

Water dripped from her eyelashes as her eyes adjusted slowly to the bright light of flames where piles of beetles burned. Patches of scorched earth pocked the clearing. Uncle Harry had Owen off to one side, bandaging his arm and questioning him.

Her father sat her down and cradled Victoire's hand in his when Grant knelt down beside them. Grant's expression was grim, guarded almost, but his concern matched her father's.

Offering her palm up, her father asked, "Are the wounds cursed?"

Victoire nearly gagged over her pitted flesh, from her fingers to midway up her arm. Her father lifted her chin away from the sight. Grant took her arm, smoothing a thick gelatinous potion over her bites.

"No, the bugs were enchanted but-"

"What?" Victoire tried to move her head.

Her father stopped her, cradling her face and bringing her back to him, eye-to-eye.

"This attack -these attacks- they're not random," he said. His words were delivered with a frown made deeper by his scared features. Those lines in his flesh played tricks, often contradicting his true temperament. Today Victoire blamed her own guilt for making them appear disappointed as well, because the true disappointment would only come after he found out how much she'd kept from him.

Victoire nodded, sliding away from her fathers touch, his concern. "I- I have some things to tell you," she whispered to both men.

Grant didn't speak. When Victoire dared meet his gaze, his eyes reflected one question: why hadn't she before?

* * *

Victoire flung open the door to her room and allowed it to slam behind her with a vicious bang while she tore through her cupboard, throwing things.

Suitcase. Shirts. Pants. Jumpers.

How was she going to explain? Did she stop with the wands and the fairies or mention the lapses, the transformations taking over her?

To the drawers. Knickers. Socks.

In and around the suitcase a disorganized pile of ill-thought-out choices collected before she shoved and shut the mess in, yanking the handle. The clasp snapped open in protest spilling the bag's contents over the floor.

Victoire let out an anguished cry and kicked the case for its defiance. She only succeeded in stubbing her toe, increasing her frustration, and spreading her things further. She dropped to the floor herself as a bitter sob tore through chest.

She'd failed. Failed the fairies, her family, the boat, and inevitably her classes, because there'd be no keeping up now. Not when she concentrated on a problem only to have an uglier one twist up behind her and take out a forest.

Nothing she'd done in this last year mattered - her life was out of control _again_. And everyone was going to know. She'd have to tell them everything.

The effort of regaining her breath and holding back the growing need to cry stole the energy she needed to pick herself up. She slid her knees into her chest, burying her head, barely hearing the sound.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

Distinct, but almost subtle, after the roar of the swarm. Her head slowly lifted. A dark waxy dot scurried back and forth across the windowsill where Gidget's water sat.

One hand moved first, smooth and as fast as Victoire dared, up to the desk. The gillywater bottle sat in reach, her fingers closing around the sticky dust coating the glass surface. She sprang, but the movement sent the beetle skittering to the ground before she could strike.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

She whirled, scanning the floor and kicking her things back into the suitcase. Nothing. She clasped the case and slid it to the door with a dull thud. Walking backwards, her gaze darted into corners.

Until she saw a shadow of movement in the woodgrain of the desk.

The bottle hit the bug and ricocheted off to the desk leg. The glass cracked hitting the wood. The neck of the bottle splintered off, sending the top piece flying to the left as the rest smashed onto the floor. Pulpy liquid leaked over the broken glass and spread out in a dark viscous pool.

The breath she'd been holding whooshed out of Victoire.

The bug remained a flat dot on the rug without another move or sound. She waited. Listened for a response -a reinforcement for the beetle or for her. Nothing stirred but the smell, tweaking her nose and nearly turning her stomach.

Her family waited downstairs; she could abandon the mess, but…

Victoire snatched up the shards to put them in the bin, slicing her un-bandaged hand on one and opening an angry gash across her remaining good palm. The thick fluid clinging to the shard seeped into the cut, not simply stinging as it hit the ragged opening but searing with a pain that stole her breath and brought her down to the floor.

She caught herself on her hands. Her head dropped on the rug. Trying to steady herself as she sank over the mess of glass and congealing liquid, a striking awareness hit her-

She no longer had control. Only, a transformation wasn't overtaking her. Pain was. A pain that consumed her, that limited her ability to think or react. Every nerve, every part of her, ignited at once. Unimaginable heat burned through her veins.

Blood moved through her body at a blistering pace.

It felt wrong. It felt like the blood was flowing backwards.

A tidal wave of pressure flooded her head, drowning her in pain and pulling everything else away.


End file.
